Hanging On
by Kiana Caelum
Summary: Alone in a village where the Gift is a deathwish, Andrea knows she has to get out fast, because the gallows are waiting. In Tortall, Ryan Talver is a thief who's made the biggest haul of his life, while Kel is discovering the difficulties of knighthood.
1. The Threat and the Thief

**I: The Threat & The Thief**

The gallows were still. Everything was still, and then the wind batted at the noose and it danced as if an invisible man twisted in it.

Andrea shivered. Around her, the crowd murmured, ghoulish excitement in the air. Their faces had the waxy sheen of fever: eyes too bright, lips parted, flushed, glistening. Every pair of eyes was focused on the rope, on that slender noose that undulated like a snake charming its prey.

And if it sought prey, she was a prime suspect. Her thick golden hair was hidden beneath the hood of her cloak, only a few fey strands escaping. Her eyes were a pensive amber, liquid as molten sap, and filled with fear. She drew her cloak a little closer and tried to remain inconspicuous.

The man stood on the gallows was an imposing figure; terrible, tall, a nightmare brought to life. She could see only his eyes; a mask hid his face, gloves his skin. All she could see were those sharp dark eyes, sweeping back and forth with the relentless monotony of a pendulum.

_Not me_, she thought, her skin crawling. Each time his eyes slid near her, she felt her breath catch, her heart twitch. The thought began to congeal into something else, something fast and panicked. _Notmenotmenotmenotme..._

How many executions had there been? Too many now. So many she was losing track. In her quiet, cold town where the Gifted were a curse to be eradicated, where magic was a poison and healing a taint, Andrea had seen Gifted after Gifted die. Even magic could not save them from the shadow man and his noose.

He had a kind of power, that man, oozing through his words, soft, persuasive, insidious as a disease. Andrea knew that as surely as she knew her name, as surely as she knew that if her Gift were discovered, she would feel that power freeze her until the crowd gave her to the gallows.

Maybe it was magic of a sort. But there was no beauty in it. His Gift didn't come from the gods. His Gift came from darkness, from hate.

The executioner lifted one hand and pointed.

The crowd bisected like a parting sea. Zealous faces turned as one to follow the direction of that accusing finger.

The path was clear: walled by bristling bodies, it led from the gallows straight to...

Andrea.

oOo

She woke with a gasp. Her hands traced a wavery pattern that filled the air with dim gold light before she remembered that led only to the gallows. With a flick of her fingers, she destroyed the spell and shivered instead in the dark.

"It's only a dream," Andrea told herself in a raspy whisper. "It doesn't mean anything."

But it was the third time she had dreamed it; each time the shadow man chose her. Each time, the gallows beckoned.

She had to get out.

There was nothing to stay for. The plague had taken her parents. By then, there were no healers left in the village. Any who had survived the first purge had fled. Her poor concoctions, fumbled together from what scraps of knowledge she'd gathered, hadn't been enough. She had buried them, and even as she did, she heard the whispers. Oh yes, the shadow man knew why the plague had come.

The Gifted had sent it.

More lies. But there was no longer anyone to speak against them. So she mouthed agreement, because it was safe, because it was easy. After all, she had no one. She rattled around their house, pretending that she didn't mind the dark or the silence, because either of those was better than what awaited her in another house.

It had only been a dream.

But as she clambered out of bed, teeth bared against the cold, she couldn't get the gallows out of her mind.

oOo

"Out of my way, Hana!" Ryan hissed as he slithered over the threshold. He ducked behind the splintered door, tense from top to toe.

"Guards after you again, are they?" Hana said, amused. Her emerald eyes danced as she took in his muddy state and the small bag of coin he clutched.

He nodded, touching a finger to his lips. Shouts echoed down the narrow street, and she sighed. He was a deft thief, but reckless.

"Seen a boy, missus?" A man in a soldier's garb approached her, breathing hard. "Short, scrawny, dark hair. Streetrat."

Hana changed modes. Her voice was as smooth as honey and every bit as sweet. She looked him in the face, her eyes wide and innocent. "A boy? Why, I've not seen anyone but you handsome soldiers."

"He's a thief," the soldier said, but the acrimony had vanished from his voice, replaced by something close to admiration. "Robbed a noble."

"The nobles should learn to keep their purses close to their hearts," she said dryly, and gave a husky laugh.

"Aye, they should." The soldier sounded amused now. "But it's not for the likes of us to give nobles orders."

"Not unless we want a floggin'," Hana agreed. "As you can see, there's no boy here." She stepped back to let the soldier see the empty room, using her body to conceal Ryan. "My taste runs to men."

"Does it now?" The soldier smiled. "Perhaps I'll pay you a visit when I'm off duty."

"I'm always happy to help the King's men, and at a very reasonable price," she said, and glanced over her shoulder. "But I've bread burnin', so if you'll excuse me...?"

"Of course. Later, madam."

She hustled him out, then shut the door firmly. She listened for the sound of departing feet - and then turned on her partner in crime, hands planted firmly on her hips. "Stealin' from nobles, Ryan Talver? I thought you knew better!"

Ryan stood up, shaking the kinks out of his limbs and threw the bag to her. "Bread burnin'? Since when d'you cook?"

"I'll have you know I can boil a man's blood in his veins," she said, but a smile edged out her scowl. "All right - we were both lucky, but you were foolish with it. Nobles! You reach too high."

"I wouldn't a' got caught if he'd not turned to look at a woman," he protested. "An' I got ye some new business, didn't I?"

"I can get my own business, lad," Hana retorted coolly. "But I can't afford the fines if I'm caught hidin' you. And a damn good hidin's what you need." She pryed open the bag - and whistled. "Mithros' shield, boy, you've done us proud this time!"

Coins cascaded onto the floor in a slew of gold and silver as she emptied the bag.

"Not only a rich 'un, but a fool too." She split the pile into half and took her share with a rueful smile. "More than I earn in a month."

"I've never seen so much," he said, his thin face alight with happiness. "We'll not need to work again, Hana!"

"It'll not buy as much as you'd think, lad."

Ignoring her, Ryan moved the coins around the floor in fascination, hardly able to believe it was real. "We could get out of here," he whispered, and Hana's heart ached at the hope in his grey eyes. "Be proper, like. Not have to live in the slums. We could live in the country, Hana!"

"Aye," she said gently, not wanting to hurt him. Still a dreamer, even after it all. She'd never forgotten her first glimpse of him, a battered child with startling strength – he should have died the day his da beat the magic from him, but he had clung to life. She had taken him back to her home, thinking he should at least die in peace. But he hadn't died, he had lived and become a useful thief, bringing his fair share of house to their odd partnership.

"I'm goin' to go an' get us a fittin' dinner," Ryan announced cheerfully. His dark hair clung to his face, briefly hiding the long scar that ran from his ear to his jaw. "Reckon there won't be no need for scavengin' others' leavings now."

I reckon money won't get us as far from the slums of Corus as you think, Hana thought sadly. It was enough to keep them well-fed for a year or two, no more. But she would let Ryan keep his dream.

oOo

"Is that it?"

There were malicious giggles echoing across the still air like windchimes.

"No wonder it wanted to be a knight." The clear voices, toned by hours of elocution, made her flush angrily and run the currycomb over Peachblossom's back painfully hard. He shifted, one hock nudging her. "It's far too ugly to get married. Who'd want that for a husband?"

"Sorry," Keladry of Mindelan whispered to her horse, feeling her face burn. Goddess blest, she was tired of hearing those useless girls giggle and snigger. They followed her around, she was sure, enjoying watching her hurry away whenever she heard the whisper of expensive fabric.

"No one with any breeding," an arch voice declared. Without turning to look at them, Kel knew it was Bruna.

Bruna, with her long twisted brunette hair that Kel thought was long enough to throttle the scheming witch with. With her sultry eyes and promising smile that had half the squires sighing and the other half writing songs that were murderously dreadful.

On second thoughts, maybe she should encourage them to go and caterwaul at the noblewoman.

"I hear it has Cleon of Kennan lusting after it," said a chiming voice that rang so loud, Kel buried her face in Peachblossom's side as Faleron stopped arguing with Neal and both turned to look at her.

"I hate them," she said wearily, lifting her hazel eyes to them. "They've been at it all week."

"Well," said Bruna, lifting her drawling voice to make sure the entire stable could hear, _"I_ hear he has a bet on with Vinson of Garvey. Who can kiss a pig first. It seems to me that Cleon's winning."

Kel felt heat tingle through her entire body. I am stone, she counselled herself. I am stone...and they're a bunch of—

"Bruna's only joking, Kel," Faleron began in the usual half-dazed, besotted way he adopted whenever her name came up. "She's lovely really. She smiled at me yesterday..."

"It was probably just wind," Kel said sourly; she winced at Faleron's outraged glare. Here we go again, she thought. Extolling of virtues, part one, followed by lecture on gentlewomen.

Her handsome friend took a deep breath while Neal caught Kel's eyes and grinned. Why you? she thought as Faleron began to tell her about the beauty of Bruna's eyes, though she privately noticed his eyes were on two things somewhat lower. Of all the people, why my best friend?

It still hurt her a little to see Neal and feel that pang of sweet-sharp pain. It wasn't love...after all, at fourteen, she was scarce old enough for that, but it was certainly something strong enough to throw little splinters into her life.

"Fal!" Neal interrupted, his wry smile lighting candles in her heart, "Enough! She's pretty, but she's not _that_ pretty. But if we're going to talk about women, well, Isobelle of Garfen, I swear she must be descended from a sylph, the way her feet barely seem to touch—"

Kel left her two friends waxing lyrical about the ladies living in their hearts temporarily, and crossed over to the palace, making sure she avoided the gaggle of giggling ladies.

I hate my life, she thought miserably. I just want to get away from here.

Maybe bright Mithros, sitting in the Realms of the Gods, took pity on this most unique of his warriors; maybe he smiled, and drew a finger through the shimmering webs of human fate. Maybe Sithri, the Fate-god wished to weave a more interesting thread in the warp of humanity.

Either way, her wish was about to be granted.

But what Kel didn't know was that gods like entertainment as much as anyone.

oOo


	2. Omens and Opening Moves

Thank you for the lovely comments on the previous part!

**II: Omens and Opening Moves**

Andrea clutched her cloak close as she meandered through the streets. She kept her strange, hawk's eyes down, her Gifted, cursed hands clasped tight around her bag. People drifted by like wraiths, every stare hard and apprehensive.

She knew that they all watched her; after all, her mother had been a hedgewitch. She would have hung if the plague hadn't come.

They suspected...but they had no proof. Andrea took care not to give them that.

Goddess blazing, the walk would be so short, and the last drop as deep as death.

But she was in trouble and she knew it. What little money her parents had left after they entered the Realms of the Dead was running out; no one would employ her, but neither did she dare she leave - they told such terrible tales about the outside world, about the thieves, the murderers, the dreadful, wicked sorcerers, and worse.

Worse than the gallows? a voice asked her.

There must be worse things, part of her whispered back. And what if...what if they're right? What if I am cursed?

It was a doubt that had niggled at her heart since the executioner arrived. But how could her Gift be evil? Was taking away a cough with a brush of her fingers evil? Was knitting bone and sealing cuts wrong?

She reached the market and hurried over to Jaton's stall. He was a dour man, with dark, shifting eyes, but his produce was good quality and low priced. She watched him finish his haggling with a stout woman before edging forward to buy her meagre lot for the week.

She gasped at the price. "But that's gone up from last week!"

"Aye, what of it?" His eyes were flat and cold as the dead fish he sold. "Some has to pay more. You just happen to be one of them."

"But..." Her protests died. "I have so little money," she tried.

"Mebbe you should marry then." His smile had a hungry edge to it that made her skin crawl. "There's some as would be glad to look after you."

She felt her face flame as she paid the money, trying to avoid touching his hand. She had seen the looks some of the men cast her way. It wasn't that she was beautiful: just that she was rare.

Child of a Scanran father, as much of an oddity as her hedgewitch mother, Andrea was unusual in a village of dark, sullen men and women. She was as startling as a star tumbling through the night sky, all light and grace.

"Jaton!" The sharp voice was the man's wife and his leer quickly faded.

"Aye, Lethna, what is it?"

The woman's dark eyes glittered with malice. "There's a meeting today. The Executioner has found another. There'll be a pretty dance this evening." Her voice was rich with satisfaction, and the stare she cut at Andrea left no doubt as to her meaning.

She felt her stomach plummet. The dream! Gods above, it was coming true! Andrea turned away hastily, but not fast enough to miss that insinuating, triumphant whisper.

"That girl'll swing, you mark my words."

oOo

"Ouch." Ryan winced as Hana bathed the cut on his head. "That stings."

"O' course it stings, you fool," she snapped, half-tempted to put salt into the water. "That's what happens when ye get yourself involved in street brawls. What was it this time?"

"One of the thieves was..." Ryan squirmed uneasily, and his eyes, flecks of bright, impossible blue like shattered sapphires glinting in them, slid away from hers. "...he was sayin' things about you, like."

"You were fightin' over my honour?" Hana snorted, but sobered at the hurt in that thin face. "Lad, I don't care what they say about me. I say far worse about them."

"Yeah, well, I got them good. An' there was three of them." Then he glanced at her uneasily. "Hana...one of them said somethin' funny."

"Funny?" she asked, and was startled to see the blue flecks swell and flood his eyes until they were pure, blazing blue, like the sky at false dawn. She tried not to be afraid; the magic that ran in Ryan's blood was Gods-gifted, even though the lad wasn't aware of it.

As a child, he'd often had prophetic dreams – his foresight had saved them from the Provost's men, from the vengeance of the Rogue, from a thousand things great and small. When he had realised that this was not normal, he had been so scared by the thought something was wrong with him, she had lied and said it was the gods blessing them, pretending to have had the same dreams herself.

"One of them called me...a...a..." He flushed abruptly. "He said I was a fireborn freak. An' that they should a' drowned me at birth, an' that my da had tried to, afore you came along."

Oh dear. Hana stopped tending his hurts to try and hold that power-filled stare.

What she could say? Deny it? How often had she seen that azure halo shimmering round his body while she slept? Hadn't she shivered at it, a gleaming mist cloaking him when he lay in that alley some ten years back, battered and broken?

Maybe it was time he knew. She had heard that unlearned magic could be dangerous. And though every sense told her that her ferocious little thief would never harm anyone intentionally, well, what about unintentionally?

"They was right, Ryan," she admitted. "You have the Gift. All those strange things you ain't never been able to explain...the way you always knows where anythin' I lose is, how you sometimes dreams true...it's all your Gift."

"My...Gift?" he whispered uncertainly. And suddenly he didn't look fifteen at all, but frighteningly vulnerable and afraid. "But I ain't never done anythin' magic."

"You have, lad," she said. "You just didn't know."

"I got the Gift." Not a question, but a stumbling truth. "I got the Gift."

"Yes," she answered, a little worried. "Look, I'm goin' to get a potion to heal them bruises. You stay here...try an' sleep, that'll help. Dream sweet, Ryan."

Eyes filled with wonder, with thoughts of magic, he curled into a corner of her dark house and slept.

And in the other place, where the mortal world was merely a gaming board for idle gods, the pieces were arrayed - some already on the board, others yet hidden. They stood arrayed: the shadow man and the golden girl, the lady knight and the lady of the night, the thief of coins and the thief of hearts. Move, and counter-move - and the world began to change...

oOo


	3. Truth and Terror

Thank you to everyone who commented :-) You're truly fabulous! Thank you to: **Aquilla, Star, Peaches, Jess, Me, Fireflily, Sparrow, Theladysong, Mage Melery, The Angel of Death** and **Harkly** – you are wonderful, wonderful people – thank you so much!

**III: Truth and Terror**

Evening fell like an axe.

As the shadows grew longer, her fear grew deeper; the menace in the village seemed palpable to her when she hurried home from the market. She met no one's eyes, but she felt the weight of their stares, darker than the growing shadows.

She didn't want to go to the gathering. But when Jaton knocked on her door, it became clear she had no choice. His wife waited with him, a grim smile twisting on her mouth. An escort, they said, for a young girl alone.

Guards, she knew, for a young girl with magic.

So she walked between them like a prisoner, feeling dazed and numb and frightened.

The gallows waited in the square. She could hear the gleeful, excited hum of conversation that ran all around her. Did they know, or did they only suspect?

It might be all right, she told herself, but knew it for a lie.

But the dream, another, darker voice whispered. The dream that comes to you every night. You will die. You know it.

I know it, she thought dully. Goddess bright, I know it and I cannot stop it.

oOo

"Don't you think it should know how to walk at least?" Bruna said. Her brown eyes scorched Kel with her contempt. "Instead of striding along. Like a _man_."

"I'd rather stride than shuffle like someone had tied my feet together," Kel bit out and immediately regretted it. She shouldn't have answered. That was acknowledging that the 'it' they referred to was her. It was letting them see they were irking her.

"Oh!" One black eyebrow arched in mock horror. "So it _doe_s have a voice. But it doesn't seem to realise what it's saying."

The other girl with her giggled. She was a vapid, pretty thing, insipid in lavender silk that was cut low and long. Kel shouldn't have envied her big confused violet eyes or glittering, empty smile, but she did.

For all the parts of her that loved the thrill of a fight, the wind rushing in her hair when Peachblossom charged the quintain, there were the other parts that quailed at the thought of mud and shivered at the thought of Neal of Queenscove's clear green eyes.

"Does it have anything else to say?" Bruna drawled, beginning to circle Kel with tiny, delicate steps. She held her skirts up, so as not to trail them through the imaginary dirt on the pristine floor. "Or is that the limit of its intelligence?"

I will not give in...

"Bruna!"

Kel wouldn't have thought she would actually be glad to see the lovesick Faleron, but she thanked Mithros and wondered if it was too much to hope he'd written some truly horrendous poetry.

Faleron's smile was sweet and bright. "There's to be jousting on the practice courts soon. I - that is _we_," he corrected, "...would like you to watch."

"I'll think about it," Bruna said off-handedly, fanning her hand out to examine her nails. "I'm very busy."

"After all," Kel put in, her voice mild, "she has paying customers to attend to."

Bruna went a shade of scarlet that Kel had only seen on sunrises. "You—"

"Kel!" Faleron said, his handsome face aghast. "How could you say that?"

Had he really thought all the nasty comments Bruna and her pack had been making were jokes? He'd happily have pounded Joren for the same insult to her, but passed of Bruna's malice as humour.

"It was easy," she snapped back. "I just looked at that witch and inspiration struck me."

"Kel!" His mouth was hanging open.

Her hazel eyes were no longer dreamy but fierce as a firestorm. "We've established that's my name." She glared at Bruna. "Maybe you'd do well to remember it."

The noblewoman's face didn't look so lovely now, twisted with anger. Her vapid companion was gazing about blankly, as if she didn't quite understand what was going on.

"I shall report this to your knight-master!" Bruna declared in a furious flurry.

"Go ahead," Kel said coolly. "It was worth it. Do your customers say the same?"

And she walked away before the wrathfully mouthing courtesan could reply.

Thank you Mithros, she thought, for letting me speak my mind to that witch. She smiled.

oOo

"You have come to hear the truth, because you are right-thinking men and women."

It would have been better if the executioner had shouted, if there had been anything in his voice except calm and darkness. He made it sound so reasonable. He made it sound just.

"And the truth is this. There is a plague that walks among us. It is a disease that we have destroyed, piece by piece. But the final shreds of it crouch in the shadows, trying to defeat us by stealth. We must not allow this. We must wipe out those cursed with the Gift, not to save ourselves, but to save them."

Those pitiless black eyes razed the crowd, and when they passed over her, Andrea felt dizzy. His words came to her as if underwater, filtered through a haze of dread.

"And these monsters, deformed not in body but in spirit, cannot understand that we are saving them. They will fight, and they will kill; but know this...whatever they throw at us, we will save them all the same, and choke the poison from them."

He held up the noose and the crowd murmured in approval. She could see the change in them beginning; they no longer seemed individuals but one shadowy mass, bestial in their emotions. She saw anger on their faces, and hate too: those she expected. But there was another emotion on every face, one that she did not expect.

Fear.

Goddess bright, they feared her.

Am I so terrible? she wanted to cry. Is that what I am to you – a monster?

"I have found the last that cowers in our midst. And I shall seek it out, and we shall take the curse from it. Not because we are cruel. But because it is right and just and merciful!"

The crowd stilled and Andrea felt the tiny knot of tension inside her begin to build, to unfold like a flower, until a scream was knotted in her throat. She swallowed it back. She did not dare move.

She saw his hand lift, scorching a trail across the crowd. They drew back like dark curtains, revealing the cobbles, revealing the future she had known must come.

He pointed at her.

oOo

"What were you thinking, Kel?" Lord Raoul of Goldenlake sighed. His expression was somewhere between resignation and amusement. "Bruna of Farbrook? Of all the people to make an enemy of..."

"I got tired of her comments," said Kel stubbornly.

He had found her in the stables, angrily forking hay from the loft; so angry, she even forgot her fear of heights. The moment he appeared, the rush of anticipation in her stomach had nearly caused her to fall – Bruna had carried out her threat.

But even chaff-flecked and grimy, she kept her head high and her hazel eyes firmly fixed on her knight-master. He was, as ever, imposing in his gleaming armour, but Kel was one of the few people not to be overawed by him.

His stare intensified abruptly. "What comments?"

She shrugged, nervously washing her fingers in her palm. "All week, they've been following me. Saying...things." She swallowed. She hadn't realised how much all those verbal stabs had hurt.

"Things, Kel?" Raoul's voice was gentle. He gestured for her to sit down.

"About girls being knights. The usual." If she thought about it too hard, it made the back of her eyes tingle with suspicious warmth. "And other things."

"Things you aren't going to tell me, I take it. Can you prove any of this?" His eyes were serious; he believed her, but others would not.

"The boys heard," she murmured darkly. "But...they thought it was a joke. They only see what they want to."

"That's the case with most people in this life, I'm afraid," Raoul said, his bass voice a soothing rumble. "I'm sorry, Kel. You'll just have to take whatever punishment Bruna gives you. But...some advice."

She looked at him and saw the glint of mischief was back in his eyes. "Sir?"

"Next time you take it upon yourself to tell Bruna the truth...make sure no one else can hear you."

She grinned despite her gloom. "I will."

oOo

Her paralysis broke and Andrea turned to flee.

Hands seized her, rough and tight as pincers. Jaton's wife wore a savage grin, her nails digging into Andrea's skin.

"No, no, lass," she crooned. "You'll not be leaving that way."

"Let go!" she shouted and tried to wrench away to no avail. "Please, don't!"

In answer, a howl rose from the crowd, a wordless cry that held the promise of blood and death and darkness.

Andrea thrashed, managing to land several slaps and kicks on the people who held her. But inch by reluctant inch, yard by painful yard, the gallows loomed. The gallows – and him.

Those cold eyes met hers.

And she was held by what she saw in them. She was falling into a chasm, black as the grave, and not even her golden fire could bring light. His eyes swallowed her whole and dragged her down, down, down.

Where something was waiting for her.

Something ancient and formless crouched in the soul of this man. Something evil.

And oh, Mithros shield her...

Something ravenous. It called to her, and she saw with uncomprehending dismay that he too had magic. Not the Gift; she knew what that felt like, but something else. Something other, black and awful-

The contact broke: she felt the scrape of rope on her neck – they were tightening the noose, and her hands were bound behind her back. It was happening. It couldn't be happening, but it was.

She screamed.

oOo

This was not the sort of dream Ryan Talver was used to. His dreams were city dreams of narrow alleys and narrow escapes, of taverns and dicing dens and markets, of noise and bustle. He had never seen anything like this little village, these still, empty-eyed people, and her...

He saw the girl, with her wide, golden eyes like pieces of the sun cut down from the sky, and a thought rang in his head like a bell.

_I know you._

And then he saw the gallows, and the man beside her with eyes that opened up onto huge and horrific and inhuman, and fear shot through him.

_I mustn't let you die._

And then he felt something inside him uncoil, hot and flaring and furious. Impossible, incredible blue light streamed from his hands towards the girl, and words were carried on it, words he was sure he hadn't thought of.

_We are bound._

oOo

The boy appeared out of nowhere.

Tousled dark hair made his face look thin and almost vulnerable, but the easy, graceful way he stood belied that. And his eyes – his eyes blazed blue, hardly human at all.

Yet he was somehow more real than anyone in this place, even though every sense she possessed told her that boys didn't just appear, and they certainly couldn't walk through trees the way this one was as he started towards her.

His words burned through her.

_We are bound._

Blue fire seared from him: and something in her answered. Her Gift boiled out of her, a wash of golden light that lit the dim dark square with the intensity of dawn. And she answered him.

_We belong._

Gold and blue met and meshed and exploded; the air screamed.

Chaos erupted as the villagers fled. But the shadow man did not move: his hand closed on the lever that would open the trapdoor.

The green fire exploded outwards.

oOo

Silence as his vision went green until Ryan could no longer see the girl, or the executioner, or anything except wave after wave of pure jade like that seemed to lap over his senses for endless time.

Slowly the magic cleared away. In its wake were still forms, bodies blown down and limp as ragdolls.

Even the executioner had been tossed aside. What Ryan had seen in that ma's eyes had shaken him to his bones, and he only prayed that he would never awaken.

His eyes sought the girl – she was there, her hair disarrayed, wrenching one hand out of her bindings. Her eyes were wide – when she looked at him, her expression was horror or awe and he didn't know which.

They were joined somehow, she and he, joined by their Gifts.

"Get out of here!" he shouted at the girl, who seemed dazed. She was lifting the noose from her neck with hands scraped red from the hemp, her mouth trembling with a kind of desperation. "They're waking up!"

"Who are you?" he heard her say. A tiny, shaky voice. "What have we done?" She stared at the bodies. "What have I done?"

Ryan ran forward, but the world rippled suddenly, uncertainly. What was going on?

I'm waking up, he thought with horror. No, I can't! I have to stay and look after her...it's important...

"Get out of here!" he shouted as the world seemed to draw away from him, fading into mists and obscurity. "Do you want to hang? Get out!"

And as he felt himself awake, he desperately hoped that she had listened.

oOo

Andrea stepped from the gallows, not understanding why she was doing, only that the boy had said she should, and he seemed to understand what was happening. She could barely think, except for one treacherous idea that circled her head over and over like a hungry shark.

_You used your Gift to hurt them...you used your Gift to kill._

She drifted through the bodies like a ghost. There was Jaton, arms akimbo, face frozen into a mask of horror. Had he deserved it? Had the shadow man been right about her after all?

She stumbled through the labyrinth of bodies, out to the woodland that lay all around the village. She was a killer, a—

"The witch is escaping!" It was that voice, that dreadful dark voice and it was furious. Andrea turned to see the executioner totter to his feet, obsidian eyes had fixed upon her. He was a few hundred yards away, nothing more. "There, there she is!"

Other rose too, clumsy as clockwork dolls. Their eyes turned to her.

And she did not dare stay any longer. No matter what was out there in the wide world, it could not be owrse than what remained for her here. Without another thought, she ran – she ran like she was running down the wind, like she was running from the night itself.

But like any true predator, the shadow man gave chase.

oOo


	4. Deities and Darkness

Thanks are at the bottom :-) But generally…thank you also to all the people who commented on Huntcall and Hanging On – I have to say, I truly didn't think I'd get anyone reviewing and I'm just...speechless. Je t'aime, je t'adore! I mean, if you could see my face I have this huge smile...

Any comments would be adored and pored over, slavishly worshipped, framed, put on my wall and salaamed to daily. And I'll bet you think I'm kidding, too... Criticism is welcomed...anything you have to say would be adored!

Dedicated to the reviewers :-)

Ki

Hanging On Part Four

The Gifted were a race apart.

Everyone knew this; everyone accepted it. Some people disliked it, some passionately loathed it. But it was a truth; whether you believed it or not, it would still exist.

And on that quiet night, the explosion of magick in a small northern town rippled through the dreams of the Gifted. Most simply turned in uneasy slumber, their Gifts too insubstantial to feel the power. But those with the strongest Gifts, the ones who lay closest to the gods, jolted awake with the vision burned onto their hearts.

A girl, standing on a scaffold, with a rope about her neck and eyes blazing like the sun with fear. Not a single heart remained untouched by the mute plea in her face, the slight tremble to her mouth. And a boy, appearing like a ghost, somehow connected to the girl. The explosion of magick from the pair that drove a crowd of a hundred, two hundred, more, to their knees and that threw them from the depths of the dream.

In the palace of Tortall, Numair Salmalín arrived at the King's quarters to find King Jonathan already awake and Tkaa the basilisk seated in the outer room. 

"You too?" Jonathan said grimly, keeping his voice quiet. Thayet was clearly still asleep. His sapphire eyes were sharp even as the dawn began to sluggishly edge across the sky. "A girl on gallows, that...that...explosion?"

Numair sighed and sat down, yawning. "The same. Are we the only ones who saw this?"

"I believe not," the whispery, smoky voice of Tkaa put in. "My magick allows me to see the state of a human's spirit if they are nearby. The Gifted, especially, appear as fires in my...vision, let us call it."

The mage blinked. "I didn't know about this ability."

"It is something we basilisks keep to ourselves, normally," Tkaa said, tilting his head. He held his tail in one paw, standing as gracefully as ever. "It tends to provoke accusations of spying." The last word was said with a certain distaste. "Nonetheless, this is not a normal situation. There are four Gifted mortals awake in the palace. Three of you are here. The fourth is still in her rooms."

"Her?" 

The silver eyes remained focused and liquid. "A young lady I have had the experience of meeting. A Bruna of Farbrook. A most...forceful mortal."

"She has only a small Gift," the King said thoughtfully. 

Tkaa shook his head. "No. She is strong – as strong as yourself certainly, verging on Mater Salmalin's powers. I thought you knew."

From both the shocked look on the King's face and the faintly angry look on the mage's, Tkaa gathered that Bruna had been hiding rather more of he Gift than she had of her body. The basilisk had always been told court ladies dressed with decorum. Bruna seemed to have taken decorum to mean 'as little as possible'. The immortal had been amused at the reactions of the human males around him.

"All such Gifts are supposed to be declared," Numair said tightly. "Though usually, the Gift declares itself. She has had no formal training from any teacher I know of...Mithros, Mynass and Shakith, what idiot let a child like that run around with an untrained Gift!"

"My father," a cool young voice said. "And I rather think that's the most accurate description I've heard in years."

All heads turned to the doorway. Bruna was stood there, clutching a dressing gown tight around her. Her usually lovely face was ashen, the sullen mouth trembling slightly. She no longer looked elegant or sultry but fragile and perhaps even vulnerable, if you ignored the flicker of steel in those scorching brown eyes.

The King looked at her in bemusement. It was unlike King Jonathan – or, Tkaa noted, Numair Salmalin – to be ruffled by anything, let alone a precocious sixteen year-old. "How did you—"

"Find you?" Bruna shrugged, regaining a little of her poise. "My Gift. I may have had no training, sire, but I can handle it. Almost." The last word was said very softly and she ducked her head, as if ashamed. This was a very different side to the confident courtier.

"Sit down," the King offered mildly. 

She perched on the edge of a low table, where she could keep an uneasy eye on all three of them. Something, Tkaa decided, had scarred this child. There was something a little pitiful to all the pithy remarks he had seen her throw at various boys and men around the palace; something pathetic about the way she had to seize attention with every word.

"Why didn't your father hire a teacher?" Numair demanded. The mage looking more puzzled than angry now, the sleepiness fading from his sloe-black eyes.

"He hates the Gifted." That husky voice not alluring, but tired. "All he wanted was for me to be as far away from him as soon as possible. I went to the Mithran convent. The sisters there looked after me."

There was more to it than that; the dart of her eyes, the sudden clenching of one hand said that. But now Tkaa could see an act slipping into place. The confidence returned, be it real or created, the old sensuality slipping into the tiny smile she gave them. "It was probably for the best."

"For the best?" the mage said in outrage. "An untrained Gift...gods above, don't you know what you could have done? We would have been lucky if you had merely killed someone."

"But we were lucky," the King interjected smoothly, staring at Numair. "There's no need to frighten the girl." The sapphire eyes became slightly sterner. "But you must be trained now, young lady. And it will have to be done on the march."

"On the march?" Bruna said, frowning. "I do not...march."

King Jonathan flashed his undeniably charming smile and Bruna, true to mortal woman the length and breadth of the country, flushed and couldn't resist smiling back. "Unless you want me to send your father a long letter detailing every court exploit that I pretend I do not know about, you will learn very quickly."

Bruna swallowed hard, her face abruptly losing its flush. Yes, she was terrified of her father. Tkaa wondered why; he had been walking the mortal realms for over half a decade now and he still came nowhere close to understanding these turbulent, ephemeral creatures. "Sire."

"What are you planning, Jon?" Numair asked, looking intrigued though the way his mouth quirked told Tkaa the mage was trying not to laugh.

The King arched a coal-black eyebrow and smiled.

****

Ryan opened his eyes and became aware at once that he wasn't in the warmth and comfort of Hana Dharaz's small house. He sat up fast, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

Fro what he could see, he was shrouded in a soft grey mist that kissed his skin with tiny, cool nips. It sparkled curiously, like a handful of magick had be thrown into it and he could swear that faintly, voices were singing strange, eerie songs he couldn't understand.

"Be calm, my child." The voice was like a primal firestorm, fierce and utterly untameable. 

"I ain't your child," Ryan had said before he looked up and his entire body froze in shock.

The woman had black hair that tumbled crazily around her pale face like hordes of frozen waves and her skin was a perfect camellia blossom colour with only the faintest dustings of pink across her cheekbones and the vibrant scarlet of her mouth. Ryan thought he had never seen anyone so beautiful, not even Hana, but the moment he looked into her eyes, he was lost.

The only thing he could think of compare them to were the lights he had once seen in the sky on a winter's morning, a startling shade of luminous green that moved and writhed and danced.

The Goddess.

"Um..." How did you talk to a goddess? Ryan hadn't exactly had much experience. "Sorry."

Was it his imagination or was the Goddess smiling at him? But she shouldn't smile. She was a Goddess, they were meant to be terrifying and...and he had an idea there was lightning involved somewhere. Ryan was starting to wish he had been a little more religiously dutiful.

"It is always a pleasure to meet one of my chosen." She inclined her head to look down at him, her piercing stare seeming to see to his very soul. "I have kept watch over you."

"Your chosen?" he said, confused. "But I ain't done anythin' to be chosen for."

The Goddess *did* smile then, and it was like sunlight falling into a dark pit. "No, that is true. You have wasted your life and your Gift, Ryan Talver. The gods have granted you immortal powers, and you are nothing but a thief."

"I've had to be," Ryan said staunchly. "Life on the streets ain't soft."

"How true." An element of ice in that voice. "And yet...can you truly say that you are everything you could be? You have powers that can sear the skies, that can heal a thousand wounds...and all you can do is steal from mortals too foolish to outwit you."

He flushed angrily. "You ain't got no right to judge me!" he said fiercely, forgetting who he was talking to as memories flashed into his head. Spending days starving when winter came, begging and scraping to earn enough to find a healer for Hana when she fell sick with fever. Crawling home when he got beaten for money he didn't have. Fighting, holding onto life by a cobweb, thieving, learning, growing, living.

"When have you ever done anythin' but sit here an' look down at us?" he demanded, glaring up at her with eyes that were no longer grey but swamped with a dawnfire blue. "You ain't never *had* to survive, all you got to do is snap your fingers an' the world's lyin' at your feet. When have you ever had to spend half an hour crackin' the ice on the river just so you can get a drink? How many times have you had to run away wi' half your lifeblood flowin' away 'cause you tried to rob the wrong person just to get enough coppers to live one more night? If I'm one of your chosen, why ain't you looked after me?"

Silence as he stood there, too furious to be afraid, with the heartbreakingly powerful emerald gaze simply watching him.

Then the Goddess laughed gently and with a wave of her hand, she was neither imposing nor haughty, but a slender woman of his own height, almost human except for the too-perfect beauty that graced her face.

"You will do," she said and putting two fingers beneath his chin, lifted his head to look hard at him. "Yes, you will do well indeed. You ask why I have not looked after you, Ryan Talver, but answer me this – when have you needed looking after?"

"I ain't, maybe," Ryan said, absently raking his hands through his tousled dark hair, "but it could a' been easier."

An elegant lift of her eyebrows. "Those the gods hold close to them will never know the easy road. And you are as close to me as Andrea is to Mithros."

"Who's Andrea?" The question tumbled out before he realise he knew the answer. "She's that girl, ain't she? The one I...she...we...what was that?"

"You have many questions," she told him, the hunt howling in her voice. She was so beautiful, Ryan felt as though he should fall at her feet and stay there forever, but at the same time, there was something undeniably eerie about her. Something almost terrifying. "I can only give you some answers."

He scowled. "Well, that's nice, ain't it?" He paused briefly, then decided that if the Goddess didn't want him to be honesty, she would have said. Or more likely blasted him into shards. "I didn't ask to be one of your chosen an' I didn't ask for that...girl to be...bound to me, like. An' now you just decide you want to talk to me? You might be a goddess, but you ain't got no manners."

A booming laugh startled him and Ryan turned round quickly, instinctively dropping into a fighting stance. 

"A little lion!" the formidable man in front of him said. "A shame you chose him first."

Ryan heard the Goddess's voice behind him. "The Gifted are mine; the warriors yours. You took the girl; I the boy. They are both Gifted, both warriors."

"So it would seem." The sun lord stood before him, blazing brightly in golden armour that shone impossibly. His black hair was like liquid night, his eyes as unbelievably luminescent as the Goddesses. But somehow, despite the weapons, the war-filled voice that held the clash of steel and shrieks of pain, he was less frightening. 

"Are you goin' to stop makin' small talk an' tell me what's goin' on?" Ryan demanded, glaring at them.

"Answers, you want is it?" Mithros said, leaning close. Ryan fought the urge to back away, but he wouldn't be scared by some god who'd never done anything for him. "Very well, mortal. Neither you nor Andrea know your parents...find your mother and her father and you will have your answer."

"Nice to know you gods ain't as cryptic as they say," Ryan muttered. "My Ma's long dead. An' I ain't goin' to find my Da again, not after he beat me like he did." A little flash of pain perhaps in his face, but he hid it well. He'd had a lot of practise.

Mithros's stare turned into chips of ice and Ryan realised the Sun-lord *was* every bit as terrifying. "It is not for mortals to find fault with the gods. We have Gifted you, we have given you a bond-mate...what more do you want?"

"What's a bond-mate?" Ryan said suspiciously. "I don't want no one messin' with my life."

Thunder rolled and a shaft of lightning seared between the fog the crisp the ground between Ryan's feet. He leapt back, suddenly realising that he was walking the knife edge with these gods, for they were not human, they were not normal; they held powers to tear the world in two.

"What you want is irrelevant!" the god barked. "And for your insolence, I will take that which you hold most dear."

"No." The Goddess said one word in her flat rich voice and it stilled the Sun-lord immediately. "You will not. He is my chosen and I will punish him as I see fit." She put a hand on Ryan's shoulder and spun him to face her. "But this incivility cannot continue. I will not take what you hold most dear...but it is time you learned a lesson, Ryan Talver. Argue not with gods; what we do not like, we tend to destroy."

He was shaking now, that sudden burst of Mithros's anger throwing him back to his fahter's voice shouting and then pain, endless, stinging pain.

"Hush," the woman said gently, and touched a chill hand to his forehead. At once, a wonderful, serene calm flowed over him and he could look into those shifting green eyes without flinching. "Your bond-mate is part of you, Ryan Talver. You are bound by your Gift, by your ancestry, and by your gods. You have saved her once; only your bond allowed you to. If she dies, you will too. We have bound you together for strength, for you will need it in the coming years. Look after her; look after yourself."

He had no words for the steely goddess whose incredible voice cut like winter hail.

"You have a long journey ahead of you," she said. "It will be long and difficult and you may not see the end of it. But you have become a favourite of mine; know always that your Goddess watches." She smiled fleetingly and lifted her arms. Lightning seared as the air screamed...

The world was plunged into darkness.

****

They were closing on her.

Andrea tore through the woods in careless, painful steps. Branches slapped her face and raked across her arms, ripping scraps from her clothes as she desperately tried to escape her pursuers. Running was near impossible, her light boots no match for the rocky ground and thorny bushes that lay all around.

"There she is!"

The frantic howl came from her left and she swerved right, trying not to cry out as a splintering tree trunk slashed a shallow cut in her skin.

Must-get-out, must-not-die, must-get-out, must-not-die...

She understand what it meant to be hunted now, understood that her gentle, healing Gift could help her not at all without the strange ghostly boy there. Her breaths fell in ragged gasps, tears and fears caught on each.

On and on and on she ran, stumbling ever further from the only home she had ever known, that heartless village, hearing the ghosts of voice in every whisper the wind brought to her ears and flickers in the corners of her eyes. On and on and on she ran, barely heeding the pain as her feet were cut to pieces, the bruises and scrapes that her flight brought.

On and on and on she ran, not knowing that as the sun rolled beneath the hills, she had left them far behind and that she was walking into the shadowlands. Not caring that she had nowhere to go, no one to help her. Tears tracks ran like silver through the grime and dirt on her face as she fell down finally, too exhausted to carry on or to do anything but fall into a restless sleep, while around her, wolves howled.

And around her, the shadows slunk closer.

And...closer.

And closer.

And these shadows had a magic of their own.

****

Okay, I have a lot of people to thank, so this might take a while :-) Bear with me, please! (Or b) scroll down.) Firstly, thank you to all the people who replied to Huntcall – I am completely, totally, utterly bowled over! Thank you so much! Thanks to: Twiz*ler (thanks! That's what I was thinking about when I wrote it), Angel of Death (no, you're not daft, it's just a case of interpret how you like), LunarBard (of course you can post it on your website, I'm truly honoured.), FireLily (Thank you so much J Your comments always make me smile!), Dara (short but sweet – thanks!), Dreamer (I like looking at the dark side of TP.), Sparrow (I'm in Britain and we have something similar – around 75/80 % is an A*.),Millennia (::hugs:: Hi! It's so great to see you on here too!) and Elinar (Hi! Thanks for reviewing :-) I'm thrilled you liked Hanging too...it's fun to write!)

For Hanging On:

Thank you to: Kibee (I hear and obey!),Fireflily (Thank you for the encouragement J ), Depressed Muse (Sure you can use that line :-) Please just say where you got it from!), Sparrow (Well, you *****are* wonderful – you took time out to review (this goes for everyone too!) and you are so positive! And who knows...maybe Kel will get to slap her.), MerlayneQ (Thank you, thank you, thank you! With such great comments, I will keep writing.), Mage Melery (one bigger font coming up!), star* (I like cliffhangers…it gives me something to look forward to writing!), Dara (I could say the same to you, please!), Daine (Thanks!), Millennia (::hugs:: Hi! I hope your parents give in soon :-) And thanks!) and last but never least, Twiz*ler (Thank you, thank you so much!). Thank you all – you *rock*.

Hugs n' honey,

Kiana


	5. Enchantment and Explorations

Hiya! 

Thank you to the amazing people who commented on the last part :-) May it rain wishes and rainbows on you! Thank you to: Aquilla, Daine, Dara, Elizabeth, Firelily (I did thank you! Twice!), Jessica, Mage Melery, Sparrow, Tam Cranver, Team Socket, theladysong and Wazzup Gurl. You are *fabulous* and you made my day! I'm sorry this is so short – I only have about five minutes! Argh! But you are all truly wonderful and my socks are well and truly knocked off!

I would love and worship you if you could give feedback – it's adored, pored over, screamed with delight on a sight at, venerated, laminated, adulated, assimilated and fervently and slavishly worshipped! Please send it – I love hearing what you think and the encouragement makes me write faster (this actually surprised me…) Especially on this part!

Hugs n' honey, Ki

Hanging On Part Five

"This is important," King Jonathan said quietly. His sapphire blue eyes were cool as the glaze on a winter's sky and every bit as bedazzling. "Two Gifted children running around with no control over their power? It's no joke." He stared hard at Bruna and the girl squirmed. "I believe Keladry of Mindelan owes you an apology and is owed a punishment?"

Bruna fumed as she recalled exactly what that cheeky squire had said. "She does," she ground out.

"Good." The King glanced at the tall basilisk who was standing quietly. "Tkaa, would you wake her?" It nodded and Bruna couldn't help staring at the creature. She had never seen anything so fantastic, so beautiful, except in dreams and wishes. It shone softly, silver and iridescent. The eyes held a depth of wisdom and intelligence that fair took her breath away, while its whispery voice was like the southern breeze trapped. As it left the room, she shook her head, feeling as if she had been bewitched.

Gods above, how could magic be so terrible when creatures like this were born of it? Her father had been so angry when he knew she was Gifted, always so angry when he saw her. She had been glad to get away from his cold words and indifferent gestures. Being locked in her room, day after day, surviving silently while the fief of Farbrook laughed and lived around her, it had been hell.

And even in the Convent, all around she saw unGifted people, normal, happy. People like Keladry of Mindelan who did what Bruna's father had never let her; defied convention. Bruna had a feeling somewhere she should have respected her, but that was swallowed by her hate and envy. It ate her alive.

"Numair, can you scry to find out where that girl was?" the King was asking as Bruna shook herself out of her reverie. 

The mage smiled and Bruna felt her heart give a little flutter. Those dark eyes would melt any woman. "Easily. That kind of magic leaves signatures." 

"Do so. When you find out, you will escort Lady Bruna there." The deep voice was smooth and steady. "Half the land will be searching for those children. And very few of them will want to do anything but use them. The last thing we need is another Ozorne. So you, Lady Bruna will pay...a visit...to your cousin who just happens to live wherever Master Salmalin finds those children to be. And Keladry of Mindelan will go as your guardian, Master Salmalin as your teacher. You will say nothing to anyone about why you are really going."

"But...I was to be introduced to the Court," Bruna said faintly. 

"I rather think you already introduced yourself to half of them," the King said with some amusement. "When you find the children – and you must, Numair—"

"I know, Jon," the mage cut in, his pleasantly musical voice concerned. "When I think of what Daine went through..."

Daine? Daine Sarrasri, the Wildmage? What could *she* have gone through? Everyone knew she was just some commoner who struck lucky. 

"Exactly," the King said firmly. He raked a hand through black hair. "You must make it seem as if you are nothing but travellers." His eyes fixed on Bruna and she swallowed. There was *power* in that stare. "That means, Lady Bruna, no flirting. No trouble. Those children have the kind of Gift that could break the Barrier. Do you want that?"

She shook her head mutely, the screams and howls of war resounding in her head. She had not had to fight, but the convent had been brought many of the wounded soldiers for the Mithran priests to heal.

"Good—" The King stopped abruptly. "Ah, Squire Keladry."

Bruna looked around to see Kel standing in the doorway, her hazel eyes dreamy and confused. Why ddin't the girl try and *do* something with herself? Instead of that unflatteringly short haircut and the bruises that were fading to a summery green across her face. Goddess, how did she ever expect to find a man like *that*? Who would ever want *her*?

Kel glared back with equal dislike before bowing to the King. "Sire?"

The King flashed her one of her heart-melting smiles, but Kel's expression didn't alter at all, remained squarely on her ruler's face. Maybe she doesn't *want* a man, Bruna thought with contempt. Too stupid to know that they're all there is if you want a comfortable life. After all, what kind of the person wouldn't smile back at the King?

"You may as well sit, squire," he said gently and gestured to a chair. "This may take a while."

****

Ryan woke up – really woke up this time – to the warmth and darkness of Hana Dharaz's house. The cracks in the shutters let in thin slices of opalescent moonlight, dust glittering in the beams. He breathed a sigh of relief, stretching lazily and preparing to go back to sleep. Then he heard it.

It was a pathetic sound, a kind of whimpering sound like a wounded animal. 

He sat up and froze in sheer shock. Ryan had never heard Hana Dharaz cry.

"Hana?" he said in alarm, stumbling to the corner she was crouched in with her knees drawn to her chest and her hands over her face. "Hana, what's wrong?"

She carried on crying, didn't answer and alarmed, Ryan pulled her hands away from her face and gasped.

Her eyes...Mithros' shield! Where they should have been a bright, lively green, they were a milky white. And then the words of the Goddess flew back to him, her howling voice striking chords of terror along his soul.

~ I will not take what you hold most dear...but it is time you learned a lesson, Ryan Talver. Argue not with gods; what we do not like, we tend to destroy. ~

Hana was blind.

"No!" he said, horrified. "Hana, we got to get you to a healer! What happened?" He had to know if it *was* his fault, his fault the one person who cared anything about him had been hurt.

"You was glowin'," Hana said in a cracked whisper. She was still crying, her breath coming in huge ragged gasps. Not knowing what else to do, Ryan held her hands and stared in that disarrayed, sightless face. "You was glowin' blue like you does sometimes. An' then you started shoutin', like, an' you was shakin' an' the light around you turned green and I didn't know what to do. I tried to wake you up, an' when I touched the light...it hurt, it hurt so much, Ryan, an' then I couldn't see..."

"We're goin' to a healer," he said determinedly, running through a list in his mind of all the healers he knew. But he didn't know any powerful to heal this. 

"There ain't no healer can do anything about this," Hana said wearily. It was unneriving to see the tears trailing down her cheeks though her eyes saw nothing."'Cept maybe Duke Baird, but he don't treat common folk, he's in the palace."

"Then that's where we're goin'," Ryan said, grey eyes glittering. "C'mon, we got to get movin'. If anyone finds out we're gone, they'll rob us blind."

She laughed weakly. "Oh, you're still the same, Ryan Talver. They don't let folk like us into the palace! We's commoners, lad, not nobles."

"An' I'm Gifted," Ryan drawled. "If they don't let me, I'll blow the walls down around them. Stand up, Hana, or am I going to have to break my back carryin' you?"

"I'll walk," she whispered. He let go of her so she could stand. "No! Don't let go, Ryan, I...I'm scared. I don't want to be alone. Not in this darkness."

"I'm here," he said gently, though his heart raged at a Goddess who was so beautiful yet so cruel. He helped her up and kept his hand at her elbow as he guided her to the door. "An' we'll see you healed. You don't need to be afraid."

Though when I catch up with that Goddess, he added silently, I'll give her reason to fear.

****

"You want *me* to accompany *her*?" Kel said in disbelief. "Excuse me, sire, but have you seen those pigs orbiting your head?"

Master Salmalin had a sudden coughing fit, and Kel could see his mobile mouth twitching. His soft dark eyes caught hers briefly and he smiled. It lifted her spirits; she had seen the mage only briefly, in lessons, but his husky voice never failed to hold her attention and he always had a kind word or solid advice for her.

The King's glare was glacial. "This is not a request, squire Keladry." 

She flushed, but refused to back down. He might be a king, but wasn't he the same king who had put her on probation for a year? "Sire, I can't."

"You...can't." A thoughtful drawl, soft and deadly. "Which part of this 'can't' you do, squire? Is it the riding that defeats you? The idea of having to fight? Sleeping rough? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you spent four years learning these arts."

"Yes, sire," Kel said desperately. "But you neglected something."

"Really?" A little edge of frost across the ice already barbing his voice. Kel swallowed. Oh, why her? Had she angered the gods? Was it some kind of divine joke?

She looked at Bruna of Farbrook. The girl, curse her, looked stunning in a silk peignoir, her brown eyes cool and her smile glinting dangerously. "Boys aren't bitches."

"I accept that you and Lady Bruna do not get on, squire," the King said smoothly. His face was stern and every inch the commanding royal. "But you will accompany her. *I* shall explain to your knight master why you are absent." He glanced out of the window where dawn was inching over the horizon in a wash of soft grey and blue. "You leave at sunrise."

Keeping her face blank, Kel rose and bowed. "Sire," she said stiffly, and left.

****

Legend...speaks of wild and beautiful creatures that roam in the dark hours.

Legend...whispers of the graceful winged beasts that fly through the sun.

But...legend often forgets that creatures that roam between the shadows and the sun. The twilight creatures, the halfling things. One foot in light and one in shadow. Creatures of strange, uncertain temperament who act on whimsy and the spur of the moment.

Andrea slept, her tearstained face tilted into the dawn's light. Cuts laddered her face, her too-slender arms, her emaciated body. Only that riotous tumble of golden hair seemed to have any life in it, a splash of sunlight in a barren woodland.

They crept up slowly, one by one. Light, delicate steps and oval eyes that glittered with aquamarine and blue lights, the colour of the ocean in sunlight. And music ran with them, wind rustling through trees.

"Want it..." A widening of hungry eyes, a parting of that small mouth with its bladed, triangular teeth.

"Mine." A swipe of silver claws.

A pale, skeletal hand lifting her gilt hair and letting it slip through its fingers like sand, "Pretty...want to play..."

Feather-soft touches ran over the girl's cuts and they healed in an instant. "Not of us. Not a wildone. Gifted one."

"One of them..." Those bony fingers touching the flawlessly smooth skin, running over the black lace of her eyelashes. "Have not seen them for long time..."

"Mortals do not walk here now...they know what we are..." A baring of long fangs. No claws on this one, but instead, a soft down, like that of cygnets, in place of skin. "They see our shadows passing by."

"Want this one...make it like us." One of the strange, misfit creatures lifted the girl. It seemed to be a blend of man and creature, its hair long and trailing down to it hunched back and oddly webbed feet. It was gruesome to look at, its mouth a gaping maw, its eyes small and silver as the moon through a cloud. "Ours."

And all around, that soft, breathy and inhuman sigh. "Yesssss..." 

Legend forgot about wild magic. It forgot what it could do.

But the wildmages remembered.

****

"Kel?" She turned from slamming her drawers to find a swaying, sleepy Neal standing there. Of course; Neal was a notoriously light sleeper. "What are you *doing*? It's the middle of the night and all I can hear is you throwing furniture around. Please, spare my sensitive hearing."

"Sorry," she said, experiencing her usual state of mind-numbing delerium at the sight of Neal of Queenscove. Even when fogged with sleep, his green eyes were startlingly vivid and his sharp, clever face was beautiful to her. "I'm...not in the best of moods."

He grinned and shuffled into her room to perch on her bed. "I would never have guessed. So, what has you in such a state at this time? Don't tell me you felt an urge to spring-clean at midnight in mid-winter?"

"Not quite." She hurled clothes into a bag. "I'm going on a trip."

"You sound thrilled," he remarked, amused. She heard him yawn. "When?"

"Next year. What do you think, Neal? Now!" She spun, infuriated at him, mad that he couldn't see how much he affected her, mad that Bruna of Farbrook had landed her in this pretty mess, furious that it was midnight on a winter's morn and she had to ride out on the whim King Jonathan's dreams, of all things. Why couldn't he have dreamt of her marrying Neal? Of her being knighted? Even of lettuce, anything would be better than this madness.

"What?" He shook his head, a mannerism she found curiously endearing and gaped at her. "But...for how long?"

"I don't know," Kel said gloomily, picking up her glaive and swinging it several times in angry motion. It made her feel better. "Until his highness finds something to cure his delusions."

He laughed. "You can't say that!" Those mischievous emerald eyes met hers and lanced her heart. "That's what I love about you, Keladry of Mindelan," he said gleefully. "Your brutal honesty!"

She caught her breath at the words then shook herself firmly. Idle comment, she told herself. Idle comment. "You'd best go back to bed," she said with a sigh. She looked at him and grinned. "Nice robe, Neal. Pink frills are really you."

The nineteen year-old stuck his tongue out in an oddly childish gesture. "Mine was stolen by that idiot Garvey, as well you know, Kel!"

She giggled. Somehow, Neal could always make her feel better. "Well, go on, go! Just because I have to lose my sleep, you shouldn't lose yours."

He arched an eyebrow. "Without even saying goodbye? Do you really think I'm as uncivilised as that...don't answer that one." Neal got up and came over to hug her briefly, then leaned back to stare down at her. "Now, don't go getting yourself killed. I need someone to prove me wrong."

She smiled nervously. Neal was uncomfortably close. "I won't," was all she could get out. Then she was simply staring up into those eyes that seemed to go on forever, like an endless summer, mysterious and intelligent and utterly enticing.

"Kel?" he said softly. Then he tilted his head sideways and looked at her as if trying to work something out. "You've grown up, haven't you?" he murmured in amazement. "And I think I missed it."

His face only inches away and the distance seemed to be shrinking rapidly. Those long eyelashes falling shut and before she was even aware of anything, his mouth was on hers, sweet and tender and sensual. Kel felt his hands slide to her back and rest there and her own seemed to be moving of their own accord to curl around his neck. Moments passed, intense and shivery.

Then he lifted his head and stared at her with bemused eyes. "Um..." 

"I'll see you that and raise you a 'huh'?" Kel said weakly. 

Neal stared at her, and then he shook his head, face flushed. "Sorry," he said. "I don't...think I should have done that. Or I don't think I should have wanted to. Or..."

She didn't know *what* to think. Her heart was pounding, her mouth was tingling and she would swear she could feel the ghosts of his hands still on her back and in her hair. She pulled herself together with an effort. 

I have to go on a trip, she reminded herself. Away from here...and Neal. 

"Um..." She had never seen her eloquent fried so speechless. Then he seemed to decide something and said, "*Really* don't get yourself killed. I think I'd better go back to sleep...and find out if this is all a dream."

"It isn't," Kel whispered.

That warm gaze met hers. "I know. But I think I need to believe it is for now. Maybe I'll know what to do tomorrow."

"Maybe," she said and lowered her eyes. He was upset. It had been the wrong thing to do. A stupid thing to do.

A silence, and then she heard him say, "Oh gods!" in a soft, exasperated tone and he kissed her again, very little soft or tender about it this time, more furious and passionate. "Goodbye," he pronounced and gave her a brief, charming grin. "Don't die on me. It just got interesting."

He slithered away, and Kel stared after him, mouth agape.

I just had my first kiss, she thought and began to smile.

And my second. She picked up her bags with a light heart.

Third time takes all?

****

Thoughts? Comments? Opinions? I would love to hear from you!


	6. Delights and Discoveries

Hiya!

Well, I now have a bruised head and I blame it all on you lot! ::grins:: I actually fell over when I saw the lovely reviews and my cat, bless its evil little heart, had left a ball there and I fell over and whacked my head on the sofa! The detailed thanks are below the end of the story; my jaw is pretty much stapled to the floor with shock – thank you all so, so, so much. May your days be filled with light and your nights be filled with stars. To quote Savage Garden, I am truly, madly, deeply grateful, from the top, bottom and middle of my heart. 

Any feedback would be sighed over, cried over, adored, pored over, revered, cheered and slavishly, feverishly and delightedly worshipped :-) Please review; I need you to tell me what is wrong, what is right, what you'd like to see, what you think. It also makes me write faster.

Hugs n' honey,

A slightly concussed, Ki

Hanging on Part Six

"I don't care if the Goddess herself sent you, lad," the guard snapped. It was the middle of the night. What kind of half-wit came stumbling up to the palace with some whore hanging on his arm, blathering about gods and Gifts? "There's healers aplenty in the city. Go and find one of them."

"You don't understand," the kid snapped back, though the tall boy wasn't really a child. It was just that the pools of torchlight on the walls of the gateway softened him, took away some of the street-bred hardness. His face had an odd, artless vulnerability to it, despite the fact the guard had seen him nipping through crowds on countless festivals, robbing anyone fool enough to keep their purse in the open. 

Now, he was stood tall and glaring fiercely, dark hair dishevelled. "They can't heal this. She's blind!"

"Well, be still my bleedin' heart," the guard drawled. "Ain't that convenient? I know that woman, lad, and the only thing she's blind to is her reputation."

"Don't you *dare* talk about Hana that way," the kid snarled, something very fierce sharp in his voice.

"It's no use, Ryan," the woman said. For the first time, the guard felt a twinge of unease. She had kept her face down, shielded by the blazing mass of red hair he had seen fluttering in a crowd so often, but her voice was drained and husky, as if she had been crying. "Folk like us ain't meant to meet the high an' mighty."

"You show 'im, Hana," the kid demanded, his dove-grey eyes fierce as he glared at the guard with undisguised loathing. 

The intelligent, sharp-cut face reminded the guard a little of his own son, if Michael hadn't eaten for some weeks and was dressed in rags. Despite his thinness, the boy was tall and had a sinewy strength to his quick movements. And there was life enough in that firm mouth and obstinate jaw.

Slowly, the woman lifted her head. A beautiful face, the guard thought, dominated by her full mouth. But then he saw her eyes and started back before he knew. In place of her eyes sat two orbs of opaque white.

"Mithros bless," the guard whispered, sketching the sign of the Gods. Then he straightened up and remembered his duty. "Look, lad, I'm sorry, but you can't come in. We don't just let commoners in. For all I know, that's just some spell you've cast. You ain't comin' into the palace."

"I have to!" the boy said desperately. "I ain't lyin' an' I ain't tryin' to rob you. 'Sides, there's you guards everywhere. What harm can I do?"

"Over my dead body," the guard snapped. 

The boy stared at him and as the guard watched, those dove-grey eyes seemed to swell and change, filling with a fiery, unnatural blue that was like the moon's corona, like the first crashing wave of a tidal storm on a sunny day. A colour that screamed...

Inhuman.

A determined little smile and a slight shrug from this curious streetboy. 

"Fine by me."

A whispered word and fire leapt between the boy's hands like a fey flower, and then that mild, rough– and that, the guard thought, was the worst of it, the fact that the boy was so *ordinary* - voice was murmuring, "I ain't wantin' to hurt you. So I think you'd best run.'

"You can't use magic here!" the guard shouted, gesturing wildly to his companions to lower the portcullis.

The boy looked at him, and suddenly his face didn't seem at all open or vulnerable, but merely sharp and intelligent and utterly stubborn. And under that voice, ocean tremors rolled.

"I hate to tell you this, but I can an' I am."

And then the guard was running for his life, shouting for them to close the gates and rolling under the portcullis as it dropped with a harsh thud as his companions on the gate looked at him in bafflement. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

"What—?" One of them began...

And the gate exploded in a surge of that cobalt fire.

The guard felt shards of blazing hot metal streak past him, one scorching his skin in a blaze of searing pain before he threw himself flat and prayed to any gods listening to protect him. The light rolled over his eyes in wave after wave of that beautiful, ethereal blue, the crash of the explosion resounding in his ears.

He blinked, to try and clear the blackness that seemed to have imprinted itself on his eyelids. And blinked again. Again. Again...againandagainandagain, trying to deny what he knew was true.

He was blind.

He staggered up, hands waving in front of him desperately and he heard someone sigh and recognised the young, weary voice at once, before the boy deftly moved him out of the open and sat him down.

"Goddess, not *again*."

****

Numair Salmalin crept quietly into his room and shut the door carefully. He smiled as he saw the girl asleep in the bed, her brown curls an unruly tumble on the pillow. Even in sleep, Daine Sarrasri;s face was stubborn. There was a smear of dirt across one cheekbone that he was itching to wipe away, but he didn't want to wake her. 

Silently, he began to pack clothes and necessities, putting off the inevitable moment as long he could. Buteventually his shoulders slumped. He had to say goodbye, even if it was only for a few days.

He shook her gently. Her eyelids lifted slowly, to reveal hazy blue-grey eyes filled with bemusement. "Numair?" Daine propped herself up on one elbow and yawned. "What's going on? It's not even dawn."

"I'm leaving, sweet," he answered gently, seeing the disappointment blossom in her face at once. "Jon's sent me out on an excursion to find some Gifted children who've been causing mayhem."

She frowned, her mouth turning down. He hated to see her unhappy, and was so often afraid to be the cause. What if, one day, he made her so miserable, she simply turned away from him? "That's sudden."

"I know." He pulled at one of the curls hanging across her eyes gently. "The gods enjoy making us work for our lives. If they made it easy, we'd all be bored."

"Don't talk to me about gods," Daine said grumpily. "I seem to spend my life being ordered around by them."

Numair smiled, adoring the way she still had a hint of the Snowsdale accent to her voice. "That's what happens when they're your parents, sweet."

"You really have to go?" She took one look at his resigned face. "You really have to go," the young woman confirmed with a sigh. "Well, I'll still have the horses to keep me company, surely." Her face brightened. "Onua's bought a new string from them Gallans. And the dogs...and the Queen told me they've some falcons that need training..."

The mage looked at her glowing face and grinned. "You won't miss me at all ,will you?" he said playfully.

Daine gave him a wry smile. "The animals are wonderful," she said, "though some of those beasties need to be told who's herd leader here, but they aren't you!"

"I know," Numair told her. "They're far more intelligent." 

She laughed and kissed him. "That's why the King's sending you away and not them." Her blue-grey eyes were stern. "Well, you be sure to come back in one piece. One *living* piece."

"Of course—"

An echoing crash thundered through the air and both of them jumped. Outside, something like lightning flashed once.

"Mithros bright, did the Lioness lose her temper again?" Daine demanded.

"I doubt it," Numair said, leaning out of the window. His black eyes were keen as he scanned the courtyard. Below, he could see a man stagger to his feet. And a boy, striding in with a woman clinging to him. By the Goddess, what on earth...? "That was magic, sweet, and powerful magic at that."

She began to get up, pulling on clothes and briefly running a comb through her tousled hair. "You'd best go," she advised, absently petting one of the dozens of palace cats that seemed to wander in from nowhere every day. She looked up and in a breathtakingly matter-of-fact voice, told him, "I love you."

He paused on his way out as she threw him the bag of clothes he had left on the floor and cast a brief spell. "I love you," he answered softly, delighted as always by the warmth in her eyes. Smiling, he blew her a kiss flushed with the black sparkle of his Gift. She gasped and then smiled brilliantly as she heard it whispering the lines of a poem he had never voiced to her.

~ You have my heart...you have my soul. I treasure yours; you make me whole. ~

****

Andrea yawned and stretched, hearing bones crackle, to find herself not asleep on the hardness of ground, but in a dark place. Around her she heard the constant drip of water, echoing softly like a thousand footsteps. Cold air lay over her skin like a mist, making her shiver convulsively as she sat up and felt only hard rock under her.

I must be in a cave, she decided, fear building slowly in her stomach in an icy knot. What else can it be? 

There was soreness tingling in her feet. She reached down and couldn't suppress a gasp of pain. They felt as though they had been ripped to shreds. Of course, she had been running, hadn't she? Far and fast, away from that haunting, terrifying man on the gallows, away from that soulless town. She had no one, she had nothing, except the ghost of startling boy who had vanished like a cobweb in daylight.

"Gods help me," she whispered, not knowing what else to do. "Gods give me strength to go on."

And perhaps she only imagined, perhaps the hum of that baritone voice in her ears was only wishful thinking, or maybe a man did say, "We are always here."

But even if it was her imagination, it comforted her, filled her with hope. For after all, she was alive, as far as she knew, and she had only a little pain, and she was far from the long drop. Perhaps it isn't so bad, she was thinking, deciding to try and explore this darkness, to see where that gurgle of water came from; for after all, if water could get in, why could she not get out?

"Awake..."

The voice came like nails dragged across squeaking floor and made her flinch. At once, her calm dissipated, and she moved frantically, scrabbling backwards to find a jagged wall in her back. 

"Want..." Another whisper, to her right this time.

No...please, Mithros, send them away, she pleaded silently. But what if Mithros wasn't here? What if they didn't hear, if she was where the gods couldn't reach? A dreadful thought struck her, froze her utterly still.

What if she was dead?

No! I can't believe that, I will go mad if I think that. Andrea could hear her own high, rushed breathing in the darkness. All around her, voices were whispering, overlaying one another like layers of torn silk so she could only catch fragments of what they said.

"Pretty...touch it...want it...mine...mortal...taste so sweet...hungry..."

And that last word was taken up by all the strange, broken voices, whispering in the darkness of a world she couldn't comprehend.

"Hungry...hungry...hungry hungry hungryhungryhungry..."

No...all around, voices that cut her like jagged glass, driving her further and further into panic and fear and into the certainty that she would die and they would—

"We are here." That smooth, male voice again, intruding into her thoughts and she was sure it was real. She caught her breath, felt her heart slow a little. "Listen to me, daughter."

Who are you? she asked in the silence of her mind.

"I am your god and you are my Chosen," the warm voice answered. It was powerful, but compassionate too. "Do not fear these creatures. You are more powerful than them. Think, Andrea, think why you ran..."

"I don't understand," she whispered into the darkness and heard the rush of eerie, ugly voices stop.

The voice touched with irritation. "You will understand. You are a warrior of Mithros; you can fight if you choose. Fight, mortal...fight or die." And as suddenly as it had come, that magnificent voice was gone.

Mithros? Andrea thought, stunned. The Sun-God has chosen me as his own? But I have nothing. I am nothing but a freak, a cursed thing, a—

My Gift. I have magic. 

She concentrated and the golden fire leapt into her hands, as the sun had risen from her soul. She hurled it into the air, a glowing globe and as she saw it what it illuminated, her heart leapt.

A cave, a cave of sleet-grey stone, with a roof that arched high and stalactites hanging from the ceiling like bladed teeth. Water trickled from them to pools on the floor, murky and rippling. And there, there it was, a tunnel some two hundred metres away that had light, true light, weak daylight lighting it faintly.

And then she saw what lay beneath it.

She screamed.

****

Kel was already halfway to the stables when she heard the explosion from the courtyard. She turned and ran towards it as behind her, she heard shouts and doors flung open.

She skidded outside to find a strange boy standing in the midst of a scene of devastation. Kel gaped. The gate into the castle was gone, scraps of metal lay everywhere, silver in the moonlight, and the boy...he was *glowing*. A faint blue aura hung around him and threw his face into sharp contrast.

"By all the gods," the King began as he strode outside, still clad in a dressing gown of dark-blue silk, then he stopped short and stared at the boy, his mouth falling open. "You!" A few flicks of magick from his fingers threw light into the courtyard, casting a soft sapphire glow over everything.

"I ain't nicked anythin'," the boy said quickly. There was a red-headed woman clinging to his arm. She was blind, Kel realised just as quickly, and her lovely face was streaked with tear-tracks. "I just want a healer for my friend."

"You...want a healer?" the King echoed, as if he couldn't quite believe it. Above, shutters were flung open, as people leaned out to hear the commotion. As he saw the white, milky orbs of his guards' eyes – identical to the woman's, the King sent for healers with a brief word to the nearest servant.

Behind her, Kel heard a soft, "Oh dear," and turned to see Master Salmalin, who gave her a brief wry smile which faded as he looked over her shoulder. He had a stunned expression identical to the King's. Kel turned and stared at the boy. What was so special about him? Nothing she could see. "Mithros, Mynass and Shakith!" the mage breathed. "It's him!"

"Aye." The boy stuck his chin out, looking steadily at King Jonathan and Kel could see a long scar gleaming from his ear to his jaw. She wondered what could have caused it. "That's all."

"And you felt it necessary to destroy my castle to get one?" the King said in disbelief. "Young man, we need to talk about priorities."

The boy looked alarmed. "I tol' you, I didn't nick anythin'!" he said. "I don't know who's got your priorities, but it ain't me. All I want is a healer." He pulled the woman forward. "Hana's been blinded an' there ain't no one in the city can heal it."

"If you keep blinding people," the King said mildly, "there certainly won't be anyone who can."

"I don't do it a-purpose," the boy muttered. 

"How on earth did we miss a Gift like yours?" Numair Salmalin demanded, stepping forward.

The boy's eyes were a soft, dark grey as he stared at the man, Heartmelting eyes, Kel thought, even if they aren't green and soft and...no, I have to stop thinking about that. 

"You're that mage, ain't you? The one what fought that Scanran in t'Immortals War. No one Salmon."

"Numair Salmalin," the mage said with a half-bow, his mouth quirking suspiciously. "Yes, I am. And you, young vandal, saved a young woman earlier."

Shock flashing on the boy's face. "How'd you...well, you's a mage, ain't you?" he said in that rough, yet oddly calm voice. "You know everythin'."

"Not quite," Master Salmalin murmured. His dark eyes rested on the boy in a mixture of confusion and amusement. "I certainly do not know how we missed a Gift like this."

"I do." The woman spoke for the first time, in a husky, drained voice. She sounded bone-weary, ruined. "I warded t'house. Ryan always sleeps there – ain't nowhere else safe. Ye wouldn't a' felt a thing."

"But whoever who warded it, surely...?" Numair said.

The woman shook her head. "I paid her not to notice. An' Ryan didn't know he was Gifted until yesterday. He ain't ever tried to use his Gift afore, an' I think I'm glad. It sounds like he's done ye some damage, sir."

"It's minimal," the King said with a sigh. "It can be fixed. Unlike your condition. I'm afraid we have never yet had a healer powerful to undo magical hurts this serious."

"Then we'd best go," the boy snapped angrily. "I've a temple to burn down."

The King and Numair exchanged looks. Suddenly Kel twigged. This must be the boy in the dream! That was why they were wondering why they had missed him...and how they knew he had saved a girl.

"And the girl?" Numair said gently. "Ryan, is it? What about her?"

There was sudden anguish on the boy's face. Not so old, Kel thought, perhaps afraid, despite his anger.

"I'd help her if I could." His voice low, passionate, startling in its intensity. "But I don't know where she is, who she is, I know nothin' an' maybe that Goddess had made me one of her Chosen, but she ain't given me nothin' but mysteries. It's she who blinded Hana, an' I ain't goin' to let her hurt my family!"

Him? The Goddess's Chosen? Like the Lioness was rumoured to be?

"Have you not thought, boy," the King said gently, his mouth relaxing into a smile, "that she sent you here for a reason?"

"We were going to ride out to find you and the girl," Numair added mildly. "We know where the girl is; you, however, were protected and now I understand why."

"You know where she is?" Ryan said in amazement. "Can I go with ye?"

The king nodded and walked forward, slowly, as if he thought the boy was a deer that might run at any moment. And with those wary, dark eyes, he was, Kel decided. "Hana may stay with us. And Master Salmalin can teach you to control your Gift. Perhaps we can learn where it came from. No mortal so powerful has ever been known. If you could do that without training, boy..."

There was a flurry as Bruna ran into the courtyard. "What is going on?" she demanded haughtily. "I heard something, but I was just arranging my hair..." Her voice trailed off as she saw the boy and her eyes widened. "You?"

"We have a new companion," Numair Salmalin said mildly. Hem like Bruna and Kel, was dressed for travelling. But looking at Bruna's expensive robes and heavy bags (that, Kel noticed, her servant was carrying), it would be a long journey.

"Why does ye all keep sayin' that?" the boy said. "Who else am I t'be?"

"I think the answer to that, lad," the King answered mildly, "is whatever you choose."

****

Comments would be feverishly worshipped! :-) Please, tell me what you think – I'd love to hear!

So thank you, thank you, thank you (what's said three times is true) to: Aeris Cimorene ei Caeran(Short n' sweet! BTW, do you read Patricia Wrede?) Alec (I wouldn't dream of stopping, not with such amazing encouragement!) Aquilla (Hey! Don't apologise for not commenting on the other part – I'm just lucky you reviewed this one!), Ariana (Thank you for such a thorough review J I try to stay true to the characters – it bugs me when other people don't, so if I don't, you yell at me, y'hear?),Caligurlie (Thank you! ::grins:: I would love to tell you what happens next, but then…well...you'd know!), Camilla (::waves:: Hi! I had no idea so many Nightworld people were on here and were TP fans! Thanks!), Daine (::Kiana nearly falls over again:: Wow! What a detailed review! Thank you so much!), Dara (I hear and obey; the halflings are something I thought up after drinking Five Alive. I swear, they put something in that drink.), Depressed Muse (Mwahaha...I get the impression from the books that Kel isn't a big fan of Jon's. And I think Numair's a sweetheart...), Euclara, (You shouldn't be thanking me! I'm should – and am – thanking you for letting me know you enjoyed it, and for such detailed feedback and for reading at all! Hopefully lal confusion will be made clear soon.) Firelily (I'm so happy you liked it! Kel/Neal intrigue me. I had to think very hard about how they would ever get romantically involved if they did.), Jodie (Sorry this is so late – the review-email didn't send to me, curse its lazy soul.), Mage Melery (I don't even have a scanner! But doesn't it scare you, knowing people are watching you? And I can just see Neal in a pink dressing gown…don't ask me why…blame the concussion.), Quartz (Hi! Thank you for the comments :-) Due to my lack of time, I haven't read **any** Neal/Kel kissing scenes at all, so hey, glad it worked!), Sparrow (::beams:: Thank you for such lovely, positive comments. Sadly, the only thing it's been raining on me is rain. Big shock there!), *star (Ah, well, you will find out what happens very soon! Thanks!), Team Socket (I haven't read anything of what you've written – due to lack of time, I pray the holidays come soon – but I'm sure it's brilliant! And thanks!), Wazzup Girl (I am **totally** in favour of Kel having long hair. I mean, all kinds of styles, and it would probably flatter her face more...) and last, but never least, the enigmatic :-) (I think most of TP's characters will flit into this at one point or another. Well, certainly the way I'm plotting it…)


	7. Farewells and Fear

Hiya, I'm sorry this took so long – I've been revving up for the Xmas holidays. But thank you, thank you, thank you a thousand times over for all the truly fabulous people who reviewed :-) I'm very short on time right now, so I don't have time to thank you properly, but I loved reading everything you said, and appreciated all the constructive criticism (Thanks! It helped a lot!) So thanks to: Aeris Cimorene ei Caeran, Alec, Anon Sara's, Aquilla, Ariana, Dara, Depressed Muse, Euclara, FireLily, Harkly, Jackal Nyte, Mage Melery, Phantasea, Quartz, Sparrow, Starlight* and last, but never least, Wazzup Girl – thank you all so much! You really lit up my week! May it rain chocolate on you all...

Any comments would be adored, pored over, photocopied, framed, worshipped and sacrificed to daily. Please, please review! I love hearing what you think! And I'd particularly like to know on this part...I'm not too sure about it...

Hugs n' honey,

Ki

Hanging On Part Seven

"You're going now?"

The voice was soft and curiously hesitant, but Kel recognised the elegant drawl at once. She spun so fast she elbowed Peachblossom, who promptly shifted his weight onto her right foot. Kel yelped and swore furiously.

"That wasn't the reaction I was aiming for." Neal was at her side at once, green eyes soft and worried as he knelt down to examine her foot. He glanced up and gave her a brief grin. "You needn't think me kneeling at your feet will be a common occurrence," he remarked, as a cluster of jade firethreads flowed over her foot and the pain evaporated.

He was dressed, she realised, only his hair remaining curiously tousled as if he had raked his hands through it again and again. His usual wry expression was gone, replaced by an odd, shy smile that made her stomach liquefy. 

She gave him a watery grin. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

"I wasn't expecting to be here," Neal told her thoughtfully. "But my feet seemed to have ideas of their own."

"Funny," Kel said, and her dreamy hazel eyes had a little mischief to them as she relaxed. "Normally they take you into the nearest tavern."

"Will of the gods," Neal said promptly. "And where my gods speak, I do not hesitate to obey."

She laughed, though her heartbeat struck her ribcage like a madman with a sledgehammer, and turned back to Peachblossom, hoping he wouldn't see the flush that had risen on her face. "And what do your gods tell you today, Neal?"

"That I should do this," he said and with a firm gesture, turned her around, so she had no choice but to stare into the crystalline beauty of his eyes, the proud face and that sleep-rumpled hair that looked shockingly touchable. "And I should tell you goodbye, and I will miss you, and...where did that split lip come from?"

Kel grimaced. "I woke Lalasa to tell her I was going. She was...surprised."

"Surprised?"

"She threw me into the wall. Next time I wake her up, I think I'll stand well back and shout."

Neal arched an eyebrow. "Sounds painful. Well, I can heal that." A deep breath, and his hands shifted to cup her face. "Hold still."

What am else am I going to do? she wanted to ask, but all questions promptly flew out of her head as he kissed her gently, mouth settling tenderly on hers and she felt the startling bitter-sweet sting of magic flow from him. And then he wasn't healing her, but saying goodbye in what Kel was sure was a time-honoured fashion. Body language, after all, could say more than a thousand words. And Neal had a lot to say.

When he finally lifted his head and looked at her with something between confusion and awe, Kel was completely speechless. 

"You'd better go," Neal told her, green eyes glinting with something she couldn't decipher. A mild sigh. "I probably won't be here when you get back. The Lioness is getting restless." He shrugged. "Maybe that's a good thing."

Make your mind up, Kel wanted to say. Are you going to sit here and rave about right and wrong or are you going to do something? If it's going to be no, then at least tell me so I can start working out how to cope.

But she would rather have stayed there forever, with him staring down at her like she was a star that had dropped into his hands, than walk away and leave her unsure and hopeless.

"Squire Keladry?" Master Salmalin walked in and Kel and Neal sprang apart like lightning had struck them. "Are you ready?" His dark eyes glanced over Neal and he frowned briefly, looking from one to the other. "Nealan, is it? Alanna's squire?"

"Sir," Neal murmured. "I was just saying goodbye."

"Yes, that's exactly what it looked like," the mage said with a hint of wickedness and much to her immense embarrassment, Kel felt herself start to flush. "Well, if you would like to finish your goodbyes, we have to leave soon. And please tell the Lioness that I'd appreciate it if she could write the sandstorm charm down for me." She could swear that as he left, Master Numair had the starts of a positively evil smile on his mouth.

"You don't think...?" Neal said, staring after him.

"I don't know," Kel replied with a sigh. "I don't feel like I know anything at the moment, Neal."

He tilted her chin up and looked at her with a solemn face. "Well, I shall miss you," he informed her gently and took a deep breath. "More than I thought I would. And while my head might be shouting no..." He kissed her again, hands tracing reverent patterns on her skin. A soft smile, a little bit of colour in his cheeks. "My heart most definitely controls my mouth," he said gently, and strolled out before Kel could even start thinking again.

Funny, Kel thought. My heart doesn't let anything else get a word in edgeways. 

****

Dawn flowed over the landscape like a tender wave, the sun boiling slowly into the sky and throwing fireshot pinks and purples and oranges around it. It looked, Kel thought, like something from a dream. All around, only beauty and silence and the rhythmic clip of their horses hooves on the road and—

"Mithros bite me!" There was a muffled thump as the street boy, Ryan, fell off his horse and hit the ground at high velocity. He must have fallen asleep – Kel had had to concentrate to stop herself dropping off as they trotted through the night. From the vibrant cursing that followed, it wasn't only Mithros who would be biting him if the other gods were listening to just what the streetboy was saying about them.

"Mithros will do no such thing," Numair Salmalin remarked quietly, his eyes sparkling under the veil of his unfairly long eyelashes. "I take it you never learned to ride, Ryan?"

The boy scowled up at him, brushing dark hair out of his eyes, which were the cool grey of winter mists. "I can ride, I was just kippin'. Though where I come from, most folks eat horses."

His horse tossed its head and pranced away from him. The boy sighed heavily. "Not me, ye great lug. I ain't goin' to eat what's goin' to carry me."

"From what I've heard, it's about the only thing you street-rats won't touch," Bruna drawled in her icy, haughty voice.

"I could make an exception for you," Ryan said. "I ain't never been one for the village horse."

"The *what*?" Bruna said in total bemusement, her voice arching with derision.

The street-boy gave her a dazzlingly angelic smile. "Everyone gets a ride."

Kel had to turn her face away so the noblewoman mightn't see her smile. The boy had a wit far quicker than Bruna's, that was for sure. And the easy way he lounged in the saddle belied his astute glance. He had ignored her so far, mostly, except to look at her in brief appraisal. 

"Do you know who I am?" the noblewoman shrieked in outrage. Kel saw Master Salmalin wince as if her voice hurt his ears. It was certainly grating and shrewish enough.

"Thank Mithros, no," Ryan murmured, his rough voice cool as the air around them. "But I get this feelin' I'm about to."

"I am Lady Bruna Darjeelan the Fifth of Farbrook," she informed him haughtily.

"Y'mean they had four tries before you an' they *still* didn't get it right?" The street boy's voice was gleeful, rich with amusement. Kel was starting to like him.

"You—"

"Children!" Master Salmalin's voice cut the air like a honed blade. "Enough. We are not here for you two to indulge in sparring matches. We have a long ride ahead of us, and you may need your strength."

"Y'ever plannin' on stoppin'?" the streetboy enquired. "I've had sleep enough, but I'm willin' to bet them two ain't." He glanced at the girls and Kel stared back.

"I'm used to long rides," she told him. "It's a rare day when our enemies set with the sun."

"Huh?" Ryan's grey eyes narrowed fractionally. "You're that lady knight, ain't you? Keladry of Mindelan. I heard 'bout you in the city. They says you're causin' trouble."

"They have it wrong," Kel said staunchly. "I don't cause trouble. I happen upon large quantities of it. And it's Kel. Just Kel."

The boy grinned lopsidedly. "Well, Just Kel, I know all about trouble. An' if you're wantin' to find it, you have to go lookin' for it first." He winked. "An' ain't it fun when you find it?"

"I don't know about that." Her voice was wry as she remembered the dozens of bruises and cuts she had received sparring with Joren and his cronies before they found her and her friends more than a match for them. "It hurts."

"Then you don't know how to fight proper-like." The boy bared his teeth in a startlingly feral gesture. "You teach me some of them Shang moves I hear you learn, an' I'll teach you how we fight in the streets."

She looked at the bright face, noted the scar running from ear to jaw that glistened in the weak morning light and decided that above all else, this boy was a survivor. "Done."

****

Andrea could only hear her voice shrieking crazily for a brief second in the hellish golden glow that illuminated the cave, and then she had no breath to scream.

Dear Mithros, they were horrible.

Deformed things, hideous, half-man, half-beast things ringed her. If she looked at one, she saw the spark of sharp teeth, the tufts of fur sprouting from its body like some magical experiment gone horribly, horribly wrong. Another had horns perched atop its head, like twisted and bowed antlers, its arms unnaturally long and prehensile, reaching out towards her while those tiny, dark eyes glittered with hunger.

Everywhere she turned her head, they sat or stooped or lay; tails, claws, fangs, muzzles, all animals parts melded into a man's body, some appearing to be made up of several animals. One with a mouth that hung loosely and drooled onto its misshapen hands, another slithering closer, with no limbs and a strange pebbly skin.

She shrank back, wanting to douse the golden light of her Gift and at the same time, too, too afraid to leave herself alone in the darkness. The lay like a writhing, living carpet across the cave, their voices hissing from lipless mouths, hissing in a strange rhythmic chant...

Hungryhungryhungryhungry

No! she cried silently. I can't stay here, I can't! She wanted the blazing strength of Mithros's voice back, talking to her, even being angry with her because his rage was better than this horror. But no sound bar their cracked whispers, nothing but herself.

She was trembling madly, but Andrea knew she had to get out for these were far more dangerous than ever the gallows had been, far more primal and dangerous. She didn't want to hurt anything but...

"So hungry," she heard a voice sigh, almost human bar that eerie high pitch. "Want you..." The thing that stepped forward made her swallow hard to stop her stomach churning. Its hands were a lobster's claws, while silvery fur tumbled from its head like a mane, down to its hunched back. It was bent almost double, but still she saw the points of the wickedly long fangs that stretched to its chin like chunks of dirty ivory. Its legs had the strong, muscled look of a rabbits, odd against the rest of its contorted body.

"No," she said, and could think of nothing else at all. "No, no, no!"

"Fight us not," it said, the words slurred. Of course, it couldn't speak properly around those...teeth. "We want...we take. You ours. We take you.."

"Not me," Andrea whispered, pressing her back against the rock until the pain made her mind sharpen. "I'm not yours to take."

It laughed, a cold sound that made her think of ice cracking. "Wrong."

And then she saw why it had those odd, strong legs. Legs that coiled under it, that tensed...

It sprang.

****

"Ah!" Ryan put a hand to his head briefly, swaying on the horse. 

"Ryan?" Master Salmalin was alert at once, nudging his horse over to peer at the boy's face anxiously. "Goddess take me!"

Kel glanced over to see what was wrong and stared. Ryan's eyes were no longer grey, but that fiery dawn-touched blue, and his hands on the rein were laced with green threads, strands were spreading up across his body until he was haloed in that unholy light. The Gift, she thought and shivered. A blessing perhaps, but also a curse.

"It's her," the boy said through gritted teeth. "The girl. Somethin's goin' on. I can feel her. An' she's scared..." Fierceness in his voice at that. "A-feared and far away." He straightened, grimacing slightly. "We ain't got time to waste fussin' over me. Let's get on." But Kel noticed, however he tried to hide it, the pain that was soft in his voice.

****

She froze for a moment, then felt her magic soar inside her, and briefly, she blinked and could sense the boy, riding somewhere, his mind shocked as the bond between them leapt into life, and the gold of her Gift turned that fatal emerald.

She screamed and hurled her...their Gift at it, afraid, angry. Lime-green light streamed from her hands like tamed lightning and streaked towards the creature. She shuddered as it hit, heard the creature's horrifying scream and saw the dust that drifted from the air.

I killed it, she thought. I killed that…thing. She wanted to retch, to control the maelstrom of feelings that spin in her head and body, but she had to get away first. Anywhere, not here, not with these.

"L-let me out," she ordered shakily. Pray Mithros, they didn't attack or she was finished. She didn't know if her Gift could…kill all of them. She didn't want to kill all of them, or even any of them.

A snarl rose around the cavern. Hundreds of pairs of eyes radiant in every colour of the rainbow, then the mass of bodies split to leave a clean path, uncannily alike the path that had swung to her from the executioner, what seemed like a thousand years ago.

She didn't hesitate, but fair flew down it, ignoring the way the cuts on her feet reopened, ignoring the pain and behind, the awful, broken howling that echoed into the air, instead throwing back her head to greet the morning light.

She was free, blessed gods, she was free.

She laughed and hurled magick into the air, unaware that anyone might be watching the sky, unaware they might see the towering pillars of flame that rose into the sky, simply running into the woodland around her.

But she knew where she was going now. She would find the boy. She knew where he was; in that brief moments when their Gifts had merged, she had known everything he knew. 

She laughed again and threw fire into the daylight. The light was here now, she was safe. And in the distance, she could see a small river winding through the wood. Finally, she could scrub some of this dirt of. But...there might be people. People who saw she was a monster cruse with the Gift.

She shivered a little, but then remembered what she had seen in the boy's soul. That not everyone hated the Gift; that he was riding with two other Gifted, and that they would surely help her and protect her from the executioner. Because although Andrea's common sense told her he could not follow her, her heart told her that she had been foolish to try and escape, because there was no escape from your destiny.

The river, she told herself. The river.

And she spent a pleasant day alone in the woods, searching for food; all she found a bare patch of berries, she would have to find something more substantial soon, but for now she was content. And for the first time in her short life, as she curled into the scant shelter of a hollow tree...Andrea thought she might be...

Happy.

****

And far away, the mage in the red robe let the orange light fade from her palms. "To the East," she called to her companion. Her slanted black eyes were cool as she looked thoughtfully to where the Gifted girl had lain herself down. "Salmalin is days away. If we can capture the girl quickly, we will have time enough to lay an ambush." She smiled, but it was empty of humour. "Set a mage to catch a mage."

"Good," the other said, claws clicking like knitting needles as it settled. Its tail flicked in idle motion, whipping dangerously close to the mage's feet. The black-haired woman turned and glared at her companion.

"Careful. The last thing I need is a broken leg."

"And if you dare to speak to me that way, it will be the first thing you get," the creature drawled in a voice slow and hot with anger, snarling, "Don't forget who I am."

The mage swallowed hard and dipped her head courteously. "I have not forgotten, master."

****

The setting sun found the travellers setting up camp in a clearing away from the road. Kel watched as Master Salmalin laid a magick circle around their camp, the air quivering with black fire flecked with silver. She was busy building a hearth while Bruna sat herself down primly, far away from Ryan, and contented herself with staring into the sky and ignoring everyone else. 

"How'd ye light the fire?" Ryan asked curiously, his eyes – back to their usual dark-grey now – following Kel's movements. "Ye've no tinder."

"There are lots of ways," Kel told him. "I thought you'd know, living on the streets."

The boy gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Aye, well, it ain't as backward as you people seem to think. Sometimes, it's even fair good." He watched as she began to search the surrounding ground for rocks. "What are ye doin', lass?"

"Lass?" She looked at him and saw his face sparking with mischief. "I'm your age! And I'm looking for flint. Strike a knife on flint and you get sparks."

"An' sparks start a fire," the boy finished, grinning. "So Kel, what's it like bein' the only lady squire? Ain't there people who don't like it? I've heard some in the city callin' you a witch an' a misfit."

She pulled a face. He would have to tell her that. "Like that, really. There's always someone who'll try to make life difficult. But I try to ignore them and get on with my life." She heard a tiny snort from in Bruna's direction, but ignored the girl.

Ryan yawned and stretched lazily. "I always hit anyone I heard say that. Reckon if Hana'd had a chance, she'd'a been good in the Riders. She's a fair shot with a crossbow an' you won't find any better with knives in the lower city. I hope you get your shield."

Kel looked up from where she was scrabbling in the dirt, surprised. "Thanks." She was about to continue, when a large hand hauled her up gently from the dirt and she found herself staring into the long-nosed face of Numair Salmalin.

"You don't need to do that," he told her mildly. "There are Gifted children here I need to train. Sit back and watch." His dark eyes were still as a lake on a windless day. "You might learn something." He beckoned Ryan and Bruna over. The noblewoman slunk over languidly, taking her time, while Ryan muttered something Kel was sure Bruna had to have heard, from the sullen curve to her mouth.

The mage gestured to the pile of wood. "Light the fire," he said calmly. "Let's see how Gifted you are."

****

Thoughts? Opinions? Comments? I'd *love* to hear what you say. And thanks for reading!


	8. Immortals and Insults

Hiya all!

I'm sorry this has taken me so long to get out :-) But it was nice to know people missed the story (thanks Kali Gurlie!). Thank you everyone who sent comments on the last part – the detailed version's at the bottom – you really just made my Christmas! You're all fabulous – thank you **so** much!

Anything you have to say would be adored and pored over, revered, cheered, delighted in, adulated, venerated and generally worshipped – please tell me what you think, I love hearing from you!

Hugs n' honey,

Ki

Hanging On Part Eight

"Well?" Numair Salmalin looked from Bruna to Ryan. Both the streetboy and the noblewoman had identical 'are you mad?' expressions on their faces. The mage sighed heavily and lifted his dark eyes to the sky. "Mithros guide me! Children, would one of you please light the fire?"

"How?" Ryan demanded bluntly. Kel sat herself down on a rock and prepared to watch the entertainment. "I ain't never used my Gift to light fires."

"Well, you managed to demolish the gates of the palace without much trouble," Master Salmalin said mildly, though the corners of his mouth twitched. "A fire should be a cinch."

"I was angry," the boy muttered, looking at his feet. "It...just happened."

"While that may be an excuse now, it will hardly serve when you are standing at the centre of a mile-wide crater," the mage said drolly. "All you have to do is *want* the fire to be lit. If you want it enough, it will happen. Lady Bruna?"

While the noblewoman stuttered and stammered an excuse Kel watched their surroundings. There was something about this place that was starting to make her feel vaguely uneasy. Though she could feel the hum of magic through her feet, protecting them, the utter silence made something inside her shriek in alarm.

She moved to where Peachblossom was tied and drew out her sword, slinging an axe over her back for good measure. It made her feel better. If she had a weapon, she could fight.

She watched the trees. Leaves rustled in the breeze, only the sounds of their whispering and the laughter of the river that ran through Corus nearby. And the slam of her heartbeat, unusually loud in her ears.

[Leaves rustled in the breeze…] Something nagged at her, yet Kel couldn't place it. Ill at ease, but deciding it was her imagination, she turned her attention back to the trio of mages.

"If you don't try," Master Salmalin was saying exasperatedly, "you will never learn to control your powers and I can tell you for free that you'll be dead within the space of five years."

"Big change there," Ryan told him. "I mean, livin' on the streets ain't exactly a picnic."

The mage glowered at him. Kel promptly decided she never wanted him annoyed with her; when he was vexed, his eyes seemed to glitter like jet caught in light and she swore she could see a spark leap from the finger he pointed at Ryan.

"Did I ever tell you this would be a *picnic*?" he snapped. "Do you know what happens to mages who can't control their power? I had to clean up a case seven years ago because no one taught *her* just what being Gifted meant. The explosion tore her into shreds that were scattered for five miles; she didn't become history, young man, she became geography."

Bruna put a hand to her forehead and her body swayed dangerously.

Master Salmalin glared at her. "You faint, young lady, and I'll hang you upside from the nearest tree until you wake up."

The noblewoman had a miraculous recovery, her sultry brown eyes wide with mingled fear and respect. Kel hid a grin. The mage certainly knew how to deal with people like Bruna.

"Now," he said more gently. "You do *have* to learn. Just try – if you can't light the fire, it doesn't matter. It's that you try; only practise will give you the restraint you need. Try thinking of something that makes you angry; the Gift tends to rise more easily when we are at the pinnacle of our emotions."

Behind her, there was a hiss. Kel drew up her sword and spun immediately, feeling the Yamani-calm she needed flood through her bones. But nothing; only the screen of foliage, and the crackle of wind tossing the leaves aside.

"Squire Keladry?" she heard the mage say in his mild, husky voice.

"Nothing," she answered, her hazel eyes scanning the area. Reluctantly, she turned and sat, but the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up, slight chills walking through her body. Something was wrong; nothing would show itself. "I'm just hearing things."

She heard Bruna's disdainful 'paranoid' and pretended she hadn't. 

"Lady Bruna, would you try and light the fire?" The mage sounded a trifle weary now. Kel watched as the noblewoman nodded graciously - as if it really *was* a request, not a subdued order – and gestured to the fire.

Nothing. Sweat broke out on the noblewoman's forehead, soaking into her long, curly brown hair. She really was trying; probably, Kel thought uncharitably, the first piece of work she had ever done. Her hand trembled, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Kel saw Master Salmalin nudge Ryan and murmur something. 

The street boy's eyes lit with devilment. "Get on wi' it, ye lazy—" 

There was a low roar, like wind in a tunnel, and orange-brown flames burst onto the stacked kindling, crackling merrily. Bruna looked like she wanted to kick the streetboy and only her breeding prevented her.

"It did work," Ryan remarked to the mage, a smile curving his firm mouth. "Does this mean I get to insult every time you want her t'do anythin' with her Gift?"

"No," the mage said resolutely. "Not unless she is allowed to repay the favour."

The boy pulled a face, his dove-grey eyes wistful. "Pity. My turn now?"

Waving a long-fingered hand, the mage nodded and the flames were snuffed out as if they had never been. "Indeed."

Kel watched as Ryan's thin face was encased in sheer concentration. But it was his eyes she watched closely. Every time she had seen him use his Gift so far, they had turned that bright, blazing blue,like dragon scales caught in the sun.

That whisper again, and she glanced over her shoulder. Nothing. She turned her attention back to Ryan, to his narrow face, how lean he was compared to the rest of them, but how he seemed to have so much life. Master Salmalin was watching him too, arms folded and that mass of inky-black hair held back and...

Black hair. Black hair that was utterly still.

Not moving in the breeze because...

There *was* no wind.

****

"It's done," the mage said calmly. She doused the fire and dusted her hands off. "I've sent them. It should keep Salmalin away long enough for us to capture the girl and...persuade her."

"It will not kill him? You disappoint me, mortal." The creature stretched and bones crackled in the silence. As it yawned, rows and rows of silvery teeth were revealed, each sharp and glinting. "Ithought you would not squirm from murder. After all, it is why you fled your homeland, is it not?"

The Oriental woman stiffened, but was careful not to show any of her ire. "It is, master, but Salmalin is powerful. Ozorne himself could not destroy him. Hadensra fell to his sorcery. To kill him would be near impossible."

"They once said things such as I were impossible," that papery, dry voice said. It was like hearing wildfire licking at desert plants. "I have often found that impossible is a word humans invented for when they cannot be bothered." The blinding orange of its eyes swung to the woman, deigning to notice her. "But I can smell your fear from here. You would not dare lie to me."

"No," the woman said and shivered, sending ripples through the silky red robe she wore. "Never, master."

The creature flicked its claws imperiously. "Go, seek the girl. Do not return until you have found her."

"Master..." The woman swallowed hard. For all that her face was empty and hard, she was young still. Foolish, perhaps. "Could you aid me in seeking her? I am tired from having to fire-speak over so many leagues."

Those lazy, fathomless eyes remained fixed on her. Time passed, when all she could hear was the beat of her heart and wondered if it would simply reach over and rip her into shreds, as she had seen it do so often before.

A claw reached out...

And curled around her arm, pulling her closer until she had to stare into the gaping maw of its mouth, feel the acrid hot breath. "You speak true. I will aid you, this once."

"Th-thank you," she gasped, dropping her eyes from its inhuman stare. "You are most g-generous, master."

"True," it said and laughed.

****

Kel caught her breath, her hand clenching tight around her sword. Something was tracking them, she could feel it now and she wanted desperately to turn around and search the forests to find what moved the leaves so softly. But she had to be careful...not to let them know.

She got up slowly and strolled over to her pack, pretending she was digging for rations. Buying time to think. 

"Concentrate, Ryan," she heard Master Salmalin say from a few feet away. He had his hands on his hips and was watching the streetboy with narrowed eyes. Ryan, for his part, looked more than a little bored.

"Master Salmalin?" she said, hearing her voice come out calm and pleasant. Good. Good start.

The mage glanced over. "Is it important, Squire Keladry?"

"Very." 

He must have seen something in her face, because he ordered Ryan to keep trying and strode over. "What is it?"

"Sir," she began. "We have a—"

There was a high-pitched scream as a bolt of gold-tinged green fire seared from the trees and hit Bruna in the shoulder.

"—problem," Kel finished weakly and slid into a fighting stance. 

More fire was slipping between the leaves now, flying at them from all directions. The mage swore furiously and shouted something. A dome of light leapt between them and their attackers; the magic circle, she guessed.

"We're safe for now," the mage said tersely, running to Bruna, who was moaning faintly, tears shining fresh on her face. "As long as they don't have a counterspell..."

An explosion rocked the ground and Kel was thrown to her knees. She got up quickly, to find the circle gone and spidrens dropping from the trees, grinning coldly. There had to be a dozen of them, long legs inching them forward, bringing their monstrous bodies closer.

She saw Ryan's face; pure, unadulterated horror. Of course, living in the slums of Corus, he had never seen anything like this. One of the spidrens lifted its hands and screamed something; lightning jagged at the boy.

"Ryan," Kel shouted. "Move!"

The boy seemed frozen. She looked away...

There was a dazzling burst of turquoise light, an explosion that made the earth roar and then silence. Hazy, peaceful silence. Her ears rang.

Kel looked back to find the boy looking grimly amused, a halo of blue fire glowing around his entire body. Where the mage spidren had been, there was a smoking black crater.

The immortals charged.

She ran forward, beside the boy and gave him the axe. He nodded once briefly; they had no time to talk, and then the wave of creatures hit them.

Instinct took over and suddenly, her sword was flicking out like a viper's tongue, swift and fatal. She stabbed a spidren, whipped the sword out and left to slice through the leg of another. A sharp pain in her shoulder, and she whirled around to find one of the monsters with a long knife that danced back and forth. 

"Hello, little human," it shrieked, its dreadful grin almost splitting its face. "Want to play?"

Metal clashed on metal as their blades met and Kel quickly realised it was far stronger than her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ryan fighting furiously, blood running from a cut above his eyebrow as he hacked off a spidren's head in one easy motion.

Goddess defend me, Kel thought as their blades locked again and she was forced down under its weight, this thing's going to kill me.

Think what they'll say about you, a voice in her head urged. Can't you just imagine Joren *laughing*? Rage surged into her bones and she threw the creature backwards with a fierce scream, leaping forward with a swift chop that it parried clumsily, whipping the sword up and round to flick one of its eyes out, ignoring the clumsy thrust that went straight past her and slamming the sword into its heart.

Black lightning razed from Master Salmalin's hands to strike the creatures, flinging them backwards as if they were wads of paper. Kel's hazel eyes were hard as she pulled Ryan out of the way and took the moment to kick a spidren in the head. The pair of them found cover in the dubious shelter of the trees.

"Thanks," Ryan said breathlessly. "Reckon we annoyed 'em."

"Well, you blowing their leader into tiny pieces might have something to do with that," Kel said and glanced over at the mage. The tall man was clearly enraged, his eyes snapping like jet set aflame, spells flying from him in balls of black tinged with silver.

Her eyes focused as she saw a spidren drop from the oak trees behind him. She opened her mouth to yell, but before she could, Ryan glanced over and hurled the axe he was holding. It spun madly, blade-hilt-blade-hilt-blade-hilt and for a horrifying second, Kel was sure it would hit the mage.

Her cry died on her lips as the axe thudded into the spidren with a satisfactorily solid thunk, pinning it to the oak.

Then she had no time to watch as she heard Ryan swear and duck a tiny, spinning piece of metal that brushed Kel's ear. She felt stinging pain and hit the floor as more lashed through the air, adding bruises to her bleeding shoulder and almost certainly fractured arm.

"What in the name of the gods are those?" she said, picking one up. It was shaped like a cross, with the tips made into pointed blades.

"Mornin' star," came the answer. "Street weapon. Ain't meant to be used anymore, too dangerous. But I guess monsters don't care 'bout whether they hurt us or not."

In the midst of the clearing, Kel could see the spidrens closing in. There were only six or so left, all bleeding, some missing legs. But still, the glint in their clod, empty eyes was cruel and she was sure Master Salmalin couldn't fight off six at once.

"Ryan," she said, keeping an eye out for anymore that might be hiding in the cover of the trees, "Can you...?"

Those keen eyes met hers and she saw with a shock that the grey was flecked with the cerulean that was the same colour as his Gift. "I can try," he answered. "But I ain't got much control. I might...hurt someone."

"Well, it's uncertain death by you or certain death by them," she said, face set. Ryan took one look at her tight jaw and white knuckles clenched on her sword and knew she wasn't going to back down.

He took a deep breath and concentrated hard, reaching down to that well of vivid blue fire that lay simmering inside. A breath as he hesitated over whether he should or not – someone screamed – and he found himself with spidren claws cutting into his arms and no spell.

"Let me go!" he yelled and *hurled* his power at the thing. There was a high wail, like a banshee, and he was thrown forwards, cutting his hands as he hit the ground. Ryan turned and saw Kel trying to stab the creature had hit her so hard a gash ran from her wrist to her elbow. Now he knew what to do...but he couldn't hurt Kel.

He narrowed his eyes and reached for his Gift again, but just a strand this time, the merest thread. He flicked a finger and the rope of blue light looped around the spidren's neck. It didn't seem to notice, a claw sinking deep into Kel's leg while the girl bit her lip and fought it.

He closed his fist...the noose of light pulled tight and the spidren was jerked up into the air and hung there, dangling helplessly. Kel gasped her thanks and waved for him to help the others.

Master Salmalin was fighting off the spidrens. Fireballs flew through the air, dicing the creatures into pieces; but they were pressing in on the mage, and he had to protect Bruna's unconscious form too. Ryan let his Gift drift towards them. He could sense the silvery light of their lives, like coloured baubles spinning in his mind. And one by one, he shattered them, wrapping his Gift around those silver lights until they were obliterated. 

One by one, he saw the spidrens go still and fall backwards, legs curling in on themselves.

And it was done.

He looked up...and to his astonishment, saw the girl, the sweet-faced girl, crouched in the bushes but with her form faint as a ghost. She looked up and her golden eyes met his for a second and her lips framed a word that made him smile, before she rippled and was gone.

****

Andrea stirred from her watching place. This was a dream, she knew that from the way the landscape seemed slightly warped, as if she saw it through a foggy window. That boy was there, hurling fire with a cool confidence about his every move, determination in his face. And that blood that dripped into his eyes, which he ignored steadfastly.

They were looking for her, and they were being hurt for it. She shivered, and at that moment, his eyes met hers and she saw astonishment replace the hardness.

"Thank you," she said, and felt herself dragged from that world.

She woke with an ache in her spine, found herself curled in the heart of a tree that was full of soft gold and green light, a hollowed out cedar whose sweet smell and silenced had lulled her to sleep.

I have to find food, she thought, and her stomach growled in agreement. She stretched and crawled out of the tree.

"Ah, you're awake," a voice murmured.

Andrea gasped and leapt. There was a *woman* standing there, a woman who looked completely out of place in a rich silk robe that was tattered and torn along the bottom. With her black slanted eyes and her pallid skin, she looked lovely and exotic.

"Who...who are you?" she said, hearing the tremble in her voice and hating herself for always being so afraid.

A weary smile. And that pleasant voice again, low and level. "Let's just say...I've been looking for you. We've food for you, and shelter if you want it."

Andrea hesitated. She was so hungry...but this woman's smile didn't reach her eyes. Like the people in the village, like those monstrous creatures. "No...I'm all right, thank you."

"Come, come child. Don't lie. You've bruises all over you and if you're sleeping in a tree, you're hardly all right. We've been searching for you for a while now. Don't you even want to meet us?"

Searching. Like the others had, like the boy was. But they were far away, so far away. Who was this women? "Well, you've found me," Andrea said shortly. "You can go now."

"Ungrateful," the woman remarked and there was sudden ice in her voice. "Ungrateful little child. Don't say I didn't try to help you."

Andrea backed away as fire flared between the woman's palms, rusty red fire. "What are you doing?" she said desperately. "Please...please, just leave me alone!"

The last thing she saw was that fire streaking towards her.

****

Thoughts? Comments? Opinions? It's Christmas...get into the giving spirit ;-)

Thank you to everyone who commented last part ::beams:: I was just knocked out! Thank you to: Alec, (Hey, I don't mind what you say, you said *something*, thank you so much!), Aquilla (I know...now I have more time I really will start proofreading...hopefully this part will be the last mistake-riddled one.), Daine (Did you see Savage Garden play at the Olympics? I mean…tight leather trousers…wow. I'm a sugar addict too!), Dara (Short n' sweet – thanks!), Depressed Muse (Thank you – I'm sorry it took so long for there to *be* more…), Euclara (I have two cats...mad rabid beasties :-) Thanks!), FireLily (That bloody 'xing' thing keeps not sending me your reviews! Kill it! Kill it now! And thank you so much :-) I don't know what the Newberry award is, being an iggerant crature, but I'm flattered!) Leila, (Thank you so much :-) I'm honoured!), Mage Melery (I haven't yet seen Austin Powers...it's really bugging me! The village horse/bike/bowling ball is just a saying we have round my corner of England.), Maia Ariadne Athene(I do write quite dark stuff – the dark side just fascinates me. Sorry it took so long for this part...it should be more frequent now as I'm on holiday! Finally!) Marie (Hi! Thanks for commenting :-) Dance all ya want, get into the festive spirit and I'm thrilled you like the story!), Me (I hear and obey! Cheers!), Millennia, (Toya and Blue are safe, at least for now.) Obsessed Reader (I like Kel and Neal...but we'll have to see what TP does – she's just so damn good at writing romance!), Phantasea (I had fun writing that part. Ryan and Bruna just hate each other so much...Glad it made you laugh! That is my purpose in life! :-) ), Quartz (Obviously I…um…failed on the hurrying part a little there, but thank you so much for such positive comments, they made me so happy! And I'll bet you *can* write!), Rengade Wolfe (Thank you. Glad you like!) Rici Stark, (I don't think comments come much more positive than that – thank you!), Sparrow, (Short, sweet and very much appreciated! Thanks!), Starlight* (Stupid'xing' thing didn't send me your review either – but thank you so much!) Wazzup Girl (Well...I like mushy – I have to admit, I'm a helpless romantic. Glad you like Ryan and Bruna; they play a big part in the story. Ta!) and last but never least, :o) – ah, they change my medication often. And hardly let me out now :-) thank you all!


	9. Monsters and Meetings

My thanks to everyone who commented (thanks at the bottom) – you lit up my Christmas more truly than the house with its thousands of lights across the road. Thank you; you have my eternal gratitude.

If you want any back parts, you can email me, ([kiananw@hotmail.com][1]) or hunt through the archives :-) Anything you have to say would be adored, pored over, delighted in and feverishly worshipped. It also helps me write faster :-)

Hanging On Part Nine

Andrea woke slowly.

She forced herself to keep still as sounds and scents drifted towards her.

"Master, are you sure it is the one?" It was the cold woman, the one who had knocked her out. "It looks so...fragile."

She could smell smoke, she realised, and there was a prickling warmth along one side that meant she was close to a fire. Her other side was bitterly cold and she opened her eyes into a slit, cautiously. She could see her gilt hair trailing along the ground, like a trail of spilled gold, tangled with dirt and thin grass.

And...

Mithros save her, what on earth was *that*?

It shone in the firelight with a soft pink iridescence, like the inside of a seashell. Scales pearled its lean, leggy body right up to the wedge-shaped head which swung back and forth warily, plum coloured eyes sparkling with cold intelligence. She might have said it was a dragon; during the Immortals War, she remembered looking up to see the beautiful creatures gliding over the sky, yet it had not two wings, but four curled against its back, and no back legs, just that pale shimmering pink tail flicking lazily as it lay sprawled on the earth.

And worst of all, not two eyes; but three. The third red-purple eye was set in the centre of its head and rolled in mad spirals.

Every sense she possessed screamed at her that she was looking at pure evil. Never mind its colour or its beauty or the way it glittered, it was *evil*.

She froze still as the head turned to stare straight at her.

"Fragile it may be," it drawled in a deep, cracked voice like the rustle a thousand pages being turned. "But it is not stupid. Stop pretending, mortal. I can sense you are awake."

Andrea stayed where she was, too afraid to move. Then the woman mage strode over and yanked her to her feet roughly, ignoring how she twisted Andrea's arm so she cried out.

"It does look rather breakable, does it not?" The thing leered at her and Andrea gasped at the two rows of perfectly even, triangular teeth that were presented to her. Before she turned her head from the fetid blast of its breath, she saw red-brown smeared and encrusted along the tips and cracks of those fangs. "Have you a name, child?"

She shuddered and stayed silent. She understood that to tell this monster anything was to give it a part of the key that might unlock her mind and soul. And strangely, she longed for the bright blue eyes of the boy who had saved her last time, the boy who made her world safe whenever the vision of him appeared.

"Perhaps you did not hear." It paused and she heard the blast of its breath like bellows on a blacksmith's fire. "Your name. Now."

She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

The blow hit her to the floor.

She shrieked and clutched her cheek with a shaking hand. Her head pounded, her knees had gone numb from the impact with the hard earth as its insipid tail lashed back and flicked up her cheek, leaving a cut that ran from ear to jaw.

"Name." The mage pulled her to her feet again, her hands rough. But as Andrea looked into the Oriental woman's dark eyes, she could see something there that startled her. Fear. The woman was afraid of this beast. She called it master; did it rule her, then? "Name, child, or you will have no tongue to utter it with."

"Andrea," she gasped in a voice that trembled like a leaf in a gale. 

"Pretty." The creature smiled again, its third eyes fixed on her in quivering impatience while the other two stared over her shoulder. "A pretty name for a pretty girl. Obey me, and you stay pretty. Disobey and you end up like her."

One clawed foot lifted to point at the mage. Andrea heard the woman's quick indrawn breath.

"Show her."

The mage nodded quickly, her skin ashen. She pulled aside the red silken robe and underneath, Andrea could see she wore only hose and a cropped top of russet hide that left her belly bare. And along that bare expanse of skin were laid deep, violent slashed marks that were red at the edges and ran deep. They should have been fatal, the healer part of her whispered. Why isn't she dead?

"She disobeyed me. She called me to her to do her bidding and found that immortals are not so easy to keep." It spat out the last word. "And now she is my slave to do as I will."

She swallowed and heard the sound of her own fear swishing in her ears. Inside, she screamed and screamed and wished only to be far away, but outwardly, she forced herself to stay calm. He couldn't die now. She couldn't.

"What do you want from me?" she said, somehow keeping her voice calm. Maybe if she complied, it would let her go.

"The boy." The creature's pale pink scales glistened as it rolled over languidly. Almost like a cat, but oh, far more dangerous. "Where is he?"

She felt her eyes widen. No, anything but that! "I...don't know."

Its tail slashed her feet from under her and she hit the ground, winded. As she lay there, blood on her face and pain in her back, that cruel head appeared above her, the elongated neck arching. "You lie. Where is he?"

Andrea stared at it as all three eyes bored into her. She couldn't tell it that. She knew this creature meant no good; she could feel it, and she wouldn't, she wouldn't put the boy in danger. "I don't know."

"You will tell me!" it roared and the very sound shook the ground. Claws dug into her shoulders as its full weight rested on her, pushing her flat until her vision began to black out. "Tell me or die!"

Mercifully, she passed out.

****

"Goddess take us all," Numair Salmalin said weakly, wiping a hand across his brow. "That was far too close for comfort."

He looked around, his enchantingly dark eyes flickering around the clearing. He winced as he saw the mess of spidren bodies and spidren parts left scattered around. There was blood trickling sluggishly from a cut in his shoulder; he healed it with a touch. Healing was not his strength, but with the recent wars, he had learned enough from the Lioness to cure simple wounds.

"Squire Keladry?" The girl came staggering out of the forest, her face masked with blood – most of it, he noticed, the silvery fluid of immortals, grinning tiredly. 

"Fine, sir," she said staunchly. She was a true fighter, he had realised, in every sense of the word. It took depths of courage he wouldn't have expected in a teenager to withstand the opposition of becoming a female knight. Unlike Alanna, she wasn't touched by the gods, she had no magic, nothing but her own skill. And from what he had heard, there was plenty of that.

"Ryan?" He looked at the streetboy. "You did well."

In truth, he had never seen anything like it. Even fully-fledged battle mages would have found it difficult to stop such an onslaught so quickly...and the boy had simply stood there and done it. He had never even seen a spidren, never used any sort of spell and he had destroyed easily a dozen of the creatures. The tall mage shook his head in astonishment.

"Ta, sir," the boy said with one his rare and brilliant smiles. "Take it we ain't stickin' round here tonight?"

"I think not," he replied, turning to the unconscious noblewoman on the floor. "I'll heal Lady Bruna and we'll be going. I have no urge to rest in peace just yet."

And while they rode, he could try and puzzle out what on earth he was supposed to teach this unusual mage.

****

"Lioness?" Neal of Queenscove ducked into his knightmaster's room to find her practising swordwork. He watched as the sword flickered like lightning through increasingly complex moves with pure envy.

"What is it, Neal?" The Champion put down her sword, smiling. He was still stunned at the idea that the King's Champion, the *Lioness*, a living legend would want *him* as her squire. "I was getting tired of all those exercises." She gestured for him to sit.

"I...have a problem," Neal said weakly. A problem. That was what he had to call it. And his problem happened to be fourteen, with wistful hazel eyes and charms he had never noticed.

The Lioness fixed him with that intense purple stare. "A problem. Well, I certainly know about those!" She grinned. "You have no idea what I got up to when I was a squire."

"I think I might," Neal said carefully. "I've...done something I'm not sure I should have with one of my friends."

"I assume you mean Keladry of Mindelan," said Alanna, arching a copper eyebrow.

He gave her what his friends all called his evil eye. "No," he drawled sarcastically. "I've secretly been having a passionate affair with the Crown Prince."

"I hope you haven't," the knight remarked, her mouth lifting into a smile. "That'll certainly spoil Jon's plans for the succession." She sighed at his exasperated look. "Neal, you aren't usually this irritable. What is it that's bothering you so much? From what palace gossip has told me, you kissed her in the stables."

"Palace gossip?" he said in alarm. He knew Kel was frowned upon by the stuffier nobles. If word got around, both of them could be in serious trouble.

She held up a hand. "I've put a stop to it. It won't go any further."

"Well..." He exhaled and tried to think how best to tell it. "I didn't mean for anything to happen at all. It's...it's *Kel*. She's my closest friend. I didn't even notice anything had changed and now...it's never going to be the same again and I don't even know if...that's what I want from her."

The Lioness looked thoughtful, her brow creasing in concentration. His knight mistress might be explosive with her famously flammable temper, but Neal had found she always tried to help however she could and admired her for it. He had read so much of the lady warriors of old and always thought of the Lioness like that, one of the fierce untouchable women. But she was disarmingly down to earth.

"I don't know what to say to you," she told him. "I don't have any kind of miracle solution. The only thing I've ever learnt about relationships is that you have to take each moment as it comes. Personally, I've always detested relationships."

As he looked confused, wondering what her husband thought of *that*, she hurriedly explained.

"I don't mean I'm not happy with George." A faint softening of her mouth at the thought of her...unusual husband. 

Neal had been brought up with the new court, which his father had often told him was vastly different, and liked it immensely. So many of his family were of the old breed, who refused to acknowledge the Baron and Daine Sarrasri (and even the Lioness herself) because they didn't have the breeding or blood. 

"I just mean...relationships take time and patience." The Lioness rolled her eyes. "And gods help me, a sword and all the skill in the world can't make them easier. I think if I had to go through it all again now, I'd scream."

Thank you, Neal thought, that's absolutely no help.

"One thing I would say to you though, Neal," she said gently. "Keladry is young. Do you really want her to get tied up in a relationship *you* aren't even sure about at that age? Think it over. I think you have to decide what it is you want exactly. And if it isn't Kel...tell her soon. And if it is...are you prepared to wait?"

He left her quarters thoughtful and collided with someone as he came round a corner. There was a crash as books hit the floor, and as Neal knelt to pick them up, he heard a stream of violent cursing.

He looked up, astonished, and met a pair of sea-green eyes. Eyes framed with long, long eyelashes and wisps of brown hair that escaped from under an expensive silk scarf.

"You idiot!" the noblewoman said vibrantly, among other, less printable things. Neal felt his mouth hanging open at her command of the language. "Do you know how old some of those books are?"

He looked at the first book. A medical books, full of ailments and spells to cure them, one he knew well. "Three hundred and seventy six years, in the case of this one," Neal said calmly, flipping through to look at the delicately done images of hissing reptiles. He closed it and looked her straight in her smouldering eyes. "Hello. I'm a human being. What are you?"

She snatched the book away, clutching it to her chest. "You should watch what you say." Her small, fine-boned face was angry.

"When I have you to watch instead?" he said gallantly and watched as puzzlement crossed her face.

"Did you just...compliment me?" she said curiously. She had a lovely, melodious voice. Shame about her temper.

He shrugged. "I've found it works with angry women."

"An unusual approach," she said mildly. "Now let's see your departure."  
  


Neal almost laughed, emerald eyes glittering. She was sharp as a Shang blade and every bit as deadly. "That's not very polite."

"You crashed into me. If you wanted polite, you'd have to be a lot better looking." She took the rest of the books from him, her stare throwing him a blatant challenge. "And how does someone like you know about books? I would have thought the sort with pictures would be more in your league."

By someone like you, Neal translated squire. "You haven't met someone called Vinson or Garvey, have you?" he said suspiciously.

"If you mean those revolting oafs that tried to paw me in the corridors, yes." The girl's look of contempt deepened. "Friends of yours, I suppose."

Neal snorted. "I've never liked them and I always will."

She laughed and it transformed her; she was one of those rare people who were lit up by happiness and Neal blinked and stared before he could believe it. She was radiant in that moment and all thoughts of Kel went flying out of his head.

"You really aren't like them are you?" she said merrily. "This is the first good argument I've had in ages!"

"You...like arguing?" he asked, brow furrowing. Neal had never met anyone in the palace who thought anything like he did. At the university, it was different; he would spend hours arguing a point with his friends, but here, the only fighting was done with weapons. "And reading?"

She gave him a cool look. "Please don't tell me you're another of those who think women should sit around and embroider all day."

If only you knew! Neal thought. "My closest friend here is a girl who wants to be a knight," he said wryly, ignoring the odd flutter of his heart at that. "And I wouldn't dream of telling her to go and embroider anything. Unless I really *wanted* her to break my arm."

The girl put the books on the floor and held out a callused hand. "Phillippa ha Minch. But my friends call me Pip."

Pip? It wasn't a noblewoman's name, and this girl, in her rich silks and with that icy accent, was certainly pureblooded as they came. Then she winked, and said, "I'll tell you when you can call me that."

Absence...makes the heart go yonder.

****

They rode for hours. By the time they reached the village it was dark and Bruna was complaining loudly. Kel, who was aching all over, wished she would just shut up. She had been unconscious for the duration of the fight and come off with a mild bruise on her shoulder after Master Salmalin had healed her. Kel had refused any help, in case they met more immortals.

The mage was bargaining for rooms to stay the night while they tied up the horses. 

Bruna was patting own her neat brown hair. "You! Streetboy!"

Ryan looked round from where he was unsaddling his bay. "Are you a-talkin' to me?" he said in disbelief.

"Take care of my mount," the girl ordered, her voice lofty and strode out. 

"Good job all nobles ain't that arrogant," Ryan remarked. "Only thing stoppin' me from hittin' her is..."

"The fact she's a lady?" Kel murmured. Ryan had an odd sense of honour she was beginning to get used to. Despite the fact he was a thief, he still treated her with respect.

The boy glanced over, grey eyes cool and amused. "Her? The famous good time that was had by all? She ain't no lady, Kel. I just don't hit people weaker 'n me."

"Weaker?" She shook her head, grimacing as it made her bruises twinge. "I don't think so."

"You look at her, you can see it," Ryan said quietly. There was something a little haunted in his face then, making him look startlingly vulnerable. Only my age, she thought but seems so much older, it's easy to forget. "You don't get to be that mean without somethin' happenin' to you. Reckon she ain't always had it easy. She just don't know how else to treat people. If someone's cruel to you, why should you be nice to anyone else?"

"You aren't like that," she pointed out. She had seen the scar on his face, the way he dealt with weapons so coolly. She had heard a lot about life on the streets of Corus, and even if only half was true, it was hard, cold existence.

"I had Hana," he said quietly. "But if you's a noble, you only got people lookin' up to you. You ain't never got anyone to talk to. Seems to me she's lonely."

"After all," Kel murmured, "Half the court hardly counts as company."

A shrug as he groomed the horse, perspiration glistening on his skin. "I don't know. I'm just a streetrat. Maybe you're right. But I just don't think people are born that spiteful. It ain't right."

They carried on in silence, leaving Kel with her thoughts. She was just musing over the fight, wondering how she could have done better, when a scream shredded the night in two.

She looked at Ryan and they both ran outside...

And stopped dead in horror.

****

Right, hang on while I just go and pick my socks up...'cause they were well and *truly* knocked off! My thanks to all of ye who commented and made my festive season festive indeed! Thank you to:

Alec (I am sorry...hang on..::gets on knees:: See? I'm grovelling...and just think if there was no cliffhanger...you wouldn't have anything to look forward to :-) And neither would I...I have not a clue what's going to happen)

AquariuSagE (::beams:: I'm thrilled you're liking it (ya know, I didn't expect hardly anyone to respond and I've just spent these last few weeks in a state of gobsmacked-ness.)

Cait (The reason the other Gifted people didn't sense it is because you have to be *very* Gifted. Jon, Nuamir and Bruna were the only ones who felt it enough to be woken up. Though Ryan blowing the castle to bits got everyone else up too. Thanks!) 

Dara (Thanks! And I can answer some of those questions...a) Can't say. b) Devious and sinister things. c) I really can't say (to quote 'Friends') d) Definitely :-) Nah. 'Please continue' makes me write more. I could *never* get tried of it.)

FireLily (Thank you! I have *not* forgotten you this time, even if that 'xing' thing won't send me your reviews...::grins:; We have the village horse, the village bike, the communal lock, the local bowling ball...what does this say about England?)

Jaelawyn Noble (Thank you :-) It's a rare day when any one calls me perfect; well, except in the context of 'you've made a perfect mess of this...')

Kali Gurlie (Thank you! Well, i don't know if she will escape...I have been known to go *quite* insane and start randomly killing people off.)

Kira Oneil (Thank you :-) It's always lovely to hear that! In the Top Three of day-making sayings, I think. Don't ask what the other two are....)

Mage Melery (::beams:: Actually, you'd be surprised how often people don't tell me that :-) So it's wonderful to hear it! Gracias! I know Andrea has a hard time...but well...it's going to be someone :-) )

Noel (Hiya! An hour? I-karumba! Thank you for all the amazing compliments...I hope they *don't* go to my head...I'm intrigued - or else what? :-) ...)

Quartz (Wow! Heeeeowge review! Cheers! Well...I'm not some famous writer person (if I was, I'd be Isobelle Carmody...love her books) and I have to admit, it's been a while since anyone applied the word 'normal' to me without 'ab' in front of it. What's Kwanza, please?)

Scyther2.0 (Thanks :-) Glad you're liking it! The next part *is* here, I've just been busy over the Christmas rush!)

Sparrow (I like thanking people :-) Y'all deserve it...you don't *have* to put yourself out to tell me you like/don't like the story. What kind of person am I if I don't even say thanks? And by the way - thanks for the comments :-) I'm having fun writing this)

Starlight* (Depression really brings me down...did I just *say* that? Ah well, hope you're feeling happier - Christmas!)

Team Socket (I *like* cliffhangers, even if I am scared of heights ;-) And as for Andrea...it depends on how I feel when I write it...let's hope, aye?)

Wazzup Girl (Happy Christmas y'self:-)...and let's all hope we make it through the New year...I swear, I hear one more 'And to an end the world shall come in the year of two thousand and one'...grrr...)

:o) (I find action scenes difficult too...they are *not* my strong point.)

   [1]: mailto:kiananw@hotmail.com



	10. Alicorns and Answers

My thanks to everyone who commented – see, all those reviews *did* make me write faster (I'm started to get into this story now!). You're all *amazing* and I'm eternally grateful. 

Anything you have to say would be adored, pored over, cheered, revered, adulated, venerated, photocopied and framed.

Enjoy, 

Ki

Hanging On Part Ten

"Mithros take me, shake me an' break me," Ryan breathed as he stared at the thing. His velvet grey eyes were wide and wondering. "What's that?"

"Hold it still, lads!" There was a group of men ringing the creature, holding it down with ropes. It scream horribly again and reared up against the restraints. "Don't let the bugger go!"

Kel shook her head. "I don't know. We never covered this in Immortals Class."

"It's beautiful," the boy said, rough voice full of awe.

Beautiful wasn't the word she would have used. It looked like a centaur, except above the human torso and human arms, its head was that of a horse, with a foot-long golden horn gleaming in the centre of its forehead and in place of its human hands, cat-like claws swiped the air futilely. One of the men jabbed it with a spear and it cried out pitifully, collapsing onto the ground.

She blinked and noticed Ryan had moved. He was walking forward, towards where it hissed and slashed at anything that came near. It had hair like a human's, tumbling down in a black mass from its equine head. The men kicked and attacked it savagely, and she realised with a start she had her sword drawn.

"Goddess!—an alicorn!" Master Salmalin had run out from the tavern they were staying at and to look at the creature with a mixture of delight and shock. "They're supposed to be extinct! Wonders never cease."

"They soon will be if these folk have their way," Kel said grimly."Sir...Ryan?"

The mage blinked his sloe-black eyes and followed her stare. He paled as the streetboy came within reach of those madly raking claws, ducking through the men holding it with ease. "Mithros, are all my students doomed to be insane?" He pushed up his sleeves, muttering a spell. Kel felt the air hum around her.

The boy knelt down beside it, dodging easily as a golden claw scraped the air by his head. He put one callused, trail-grubby hand around its horn and leant close. The alicorn snarled, but then Ryan began to glow that eerie blue again and Kel could see his lips moving, as if he was whispering to the beast.

It stilled, and lay there, looking up at him with its liquid faun eyes, hooves sprawled as the men tightened the ropes around it. "Kill it now," she heard one say.

"No." Kel swallowed hard. She could see the beauty in it now it was still; its inky coat was clean and glossy, skin smooth and unblemished. "Don't hurt it," she said to one of the men near her. "Please don't."

He turned to her, muscles bulging as he hauled on the rope. "You're a noble, lass. You don't understand. This creature's been eatin' our animals and hurtin' our children."

"That weren't her." Ryan's voice cut across him sharply. He had looked up, one hand still curled around the alicorn's gilt horn. All the wounds on the immortal's body were healed, she realised, startled. "She ain't hurt anyone."

"Aye? She fought hard enough," the man snapped brusquely. "We've five men down with scratches from that creature's claws."

"You scared her." The boy reached out his other hand to touch one of the ropes binding the creature. It rippled in a wave of blue fire and fell into ashes.

"Oy!" The spears were suddenly levelled at Ryan. "You leave that, lad. You don't know what you're dealin' with."

"Her name's Chantavol," the boy said quietly, facing the man with fearless eyes on his alluring face. "It means Songflight. She came here from the north only today. She don't know what's been killin' your beasts, but alicorns are plant-eaters."

"Them claws are just decoration, are they?" the man said sceptically, giving the streetboy a hard look. Ryan glared right back. "Damn mages. Sittin' around wi' your books in fancy castles..."

Kel wanted to laugh. It was the most inaccurate description of Ryan she'd heard yet. In his rough, simple clothes and with that untidily tousled dark hair, there was no way he could pass for a noble. He had the face for it, she'd admit, with that straight slim nose and firm sculpted mouth, but the way he spoke and moved was all wrong; too predatory, too fluid. Too honest.

"Actually," Master Salmalin's voice cut in, "they *are* just decoration." He gave the man a charming smile. "Alicorns are not considered to be true immortals, due to the fact they were created in the Mortal Realms some five centuries ago by a mage called Alissa Shandori. The claws are there purely for protection. They are very easily frightened...and correct me if I'm wrong, but if someone stuck a spear in *me*, I'd be rather upset."

Kel noticed Ryan was magically dissolving the ropes while the mage talked. No one else realised until the alicorn stood up, shaking out her mane of inky black hair. It fell down to where her human torso joined her horse body; Kel was surprised to see she was wearing a rudimentary breastband over her body and that her hands were well-kept.

"We shall take her," the mage was saying smoothly. "If you can show me any of the wounds your mysterious creature has made, I may be able to tell you what it is you should be looking for."

The man agreed sullenly, still keeping an eye on the alicorn, who kept close to Ryan as if she thought he could protect her. Kel had to admit, he probably could.

"C'mon," Ryan murmuring, strolling over to Kel. "Best get into t'stables. She's somethin' she wants to tell us."

"The alicorn?" she said in disbelief. The creature gave her a bland stare from startlingly intelligent eyes.

"You see anyone else here?" said the boy wryly. 

****

"Thank you." 

Kel's hazel eyes widened as the alicorn spoke. "Why didn't you say anything back there?"

"I was afraid they might think I was lying or trying to bewitch them." Chantevol ducked her head shyly, hooves clicking on the stable floor. Despite her horse's head, the voice was utterly human, rich and slightly earthy. "It's been so long since I saw mortals. Thank you, youngling," she said to Ryan.

"No problem." Ryan smiled sweetly. He was tending to Bruna's horse, albeit reluctantly. Mostly, Kel suspected, because he knew the noblewoman wouldn't do anything. She gave him a hand. "What did you want to tell us?"

"Get out of here. You're entering the Deadlands, boy. No one of our blood is safe here."

"Our blood?" His brow furrowed, obviously confused. 

Chantevol nudged him with her golden horn gently. "Magical. Something has gone wrong in these lands – all immortals keep far away from these villages now. If we go near, we are set upon." Her lips drew back to show square even teeth. It was not a smile. "My mate was killed a moon ago."

"That can't be right," protested Kel. "The King sends patrols this way all the time."

"Armed patrols?" 

"Of course," she replied, confused. She had often seen the clusters of horseman leave with their shining armour and bright banners. 

"Then they are safe. And I doubt many of them are...what is it you mortals say? Gifted?"

"Aye," Ryan answered. He gave Bruna's horse an apple then settled himself comfortably on a fragrant heap of hay. "What do they do to Gifted round this way?"

"Here? Nothing. Maybe they'll throw stones or make it clear you aren't welcome." The alicorn flicked her jet tail. "But within a day or two's ride of here, I've seen them hang people they think are Gifted."

"They don't always get it right?" Kel shuddered at the thought of helpless bodies swinging and mouldering in the breeze. "But surely someone would stop them..."

Chantevol gave a neighing laugh. "Who knows? They certainly don't say they were hung because they were Gifted! When they took my mate, I followed them to see if I could save him. They were hanging a mortal then too, a small one of you."

"A kid," Ryan translated. His face was shuttered and Kel couldn't tell what he was thinking at all.

"They tortured my mate for two days." Her voice trembled and Kel felt a stab of pity for these strange creature. "After they killed him, one of your patrols came along. Men on my hoof-sisters with weapons. The village people told him that the boy was a thief and that my mate had killed one of their children."

A shiver danced up Kel's back. The story was uncomfortably close to what the village people had said about *this* alicorn. She wondered what would have happened if they hadn't been here.

"Are we safe here?" said Ryan grimly. His voice was unusually gentle, sympathy in his face.

"For tonight," the alicorn told him. "But I fear the Deadlands spread further every day. There is something controlling them, a dark magic. I felt it when we travelled from the north and it was close by when my mate died."

"Why do you call them Deadlands?" Kel made a mental to check her weapons to make sure they were all in perfect working order. She did not want to be caught unarmed against these Gift-hating people.

Her answer was startling.

"All magic is gone from them now. Even the Wild Magic has fled; the Stormwings have found other eyries, the animals have fallen silent and no Gifted mortals survive any more. Even the gods have been forsaken. Those mortals worship something else now, something evil and rotting." 

The alicorn tossed her head. "I did not think I would live to see true evil rise again. In five hundred years, I have known nothing to match this." Her keen eyes swung from Ryan to Kel. "Do not go there. They will sense you are Gifted – and even if you are not, girl, they will kill you because you travel with three mages whose power I felt half a league away."

"We have to." Ryan had taken out a knife and was honing it skilfully. "Ain't got no choice. We're lookin' for a girl. Don't s'pose ye've seen her?"

"What colour is her Gift?"

It seemed an odd question. Kel frowned and the alicorn must have seen it because she smiled smoothly.

"To immortals, mortal magic is a colour on our senses. If you know what colour your girl's Gift is, I may have seen her."

"Gold," Ryan said.

"Ah!" Chantevol breathed in deeply. "So you are the one who caused such tumult in the magical planes the other night. I wondered, when you healed me. You are touched by the gods, youngling."

"The Goddess actually, an' I think *she's* the touched one. In the head."

Kel smothered a grin. It was not done to insult the gods; they had a tendency to throw lightning.

"Then you should be doubly careful. You are bound to that girl—"

"Everyone keeps tellin' me that," the boy said exasperatedly, "but I ain't got no idea *why*."

"Your blood," the alicorn said gently. "That's the answer."

"That ain't no answer!" Ryan snapped. "Can ye stop bein' so cryptic?"

"If the Goddess hasn't told you, she doesn't want you to know. I have no wish to anger her." Chatevol gave a little shrug. "I am sorry, youngling. I can't help you with that...but I can help you in another way, if you wish. As a parting gift, for you did not hesitate to help me, even though I might have hurt you."

He looked at her, grey eyes shrewd. "All right. Long as it ain't goin' to hurt."

"It won't," she promised. "Come here."

She laid the golden horn against his face, tracing it down the scar that ran from his ear to his jaw. Silvery sparks trailed from her horn and where it passed, the scar simply vanished. Then she touched her horn to his palm, and a tiny glass vial appeared in a cloud of sparkling mist. "If ever you need my help," she said, "break this."

"Do you know where you're going?" Kel asked quietly. 

The alicorn turned to her and to Kel's surprise, touché her horn to the cuts and bruises covering Kel. The alicorn's magic wasn't like Neal's – it left an icy tingle in its wake. "No, little mortal. Why?"

"If you go to Tortall," she said, looking up into the kind face, "I'm sure they'll welcome you there."

The alicorn gave another of her rare, brilliant smiles. "Thank you. I shall tell others of my kind that not all mortals are cruel and cold."

She was gone soon after, and the four of them; Kel, Numair, Bruna and Ryan, passed a quiet evening in the tavern under the watchful and wary eyes of the village people. They told Master Salmalin what Chantevol had told them, though Kel noticed Ryan omitted her gift. Still, it was his business.

Bruna spent most of the evening complaining about the quality of the food, until Ryan unceremoniously told her where she could put it if she didn't like it, and Kel tried to hide her laughter in an unconvincing coughing fit.

Before she fell asleep that night, she wondered how Neal was, and how all her friends in the palace were getting on. Eventually, she drifted into pleasant, mindless dreams.

****

"No, no, no!" Phillippa ha Minch declared loudly, flinging a book aside. "Atheism is *belief* in the gods..."

Neal glared at her in mock-anger from where he had Faleron in a headlock. "What? That's rubbish!"

She stood up, her expensive pastel green skirts swishing about her. Neal watched in amusement as some of his friends' attention promptly left their work and flew to the nolewoman whose sea-green eyes danced so wickedly. "Atheism is a state of total denunciation of all gods. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Therefore," her finger stabbed the air, "in order to denounce the gods in all completeness, one must first believe in them. If there is no belief, there can be no doubt of that belief."

"That's not true!" Neal protested. "That's like saying I'm an atheist in tables because I don't believe in them. But they still exist, I just don't happen to pray to them every day—"

"No," Phillippa interrupted coolly, looking round. Seaver's dark eyes dropped and Neal was amused to see Prince Roald flush slightly. "If you don't believe in the gods in the first place, you aren't denying anything. It would be like me denying the existence of..." She paused and waved a hand, "oh...say, a spherical world. Everyone *knows* the world is flat, therefore there is no point to me denying the existence of—"

"Um..." said Faleron pitifully. "My head is hurting."

"I know it's difficult to understand..." Phillippa began.

"It's not that," he said. "Neal, can you let go of this headlock *before* you finish arguing?"

Ever since Neal had introduced Phillippa to his friends an hour or two ago, they had been enchanted by her extremely unladylike habit of interrupting, speaking loudly and putting a swift elbow into the ribs of anyone who annoyed her. 

"Can you teach me how to do that?" she said abruptly. Her lively face was intent.

"What?" asked Neal, turning to examine his mathematics homework, which was mostly crossed-out.

"That headlock." She came to stand in front of him so he couldn't ignore her. "Neal of Queenscove, don't you know it's polite to pay attention to a lady when she's talking?"

"You never shut up," he pointed out. "I wouldn't get anything done."

He thought he heard Seaver mutter, "and how is that bad?" but chose to disregard it.

"And no, I'm not going to give you another way to make me regret disagreeing with you," he finished, scrawling down the answer to an algebra question.

She grabbed his arm and twisted it. 

"Yeeeouch!" Pain shot up his arm as he struggled to get it free and finally, scowled at her. "Where did an almost-nice girl like you learn that?"

"Roald taught me earlier, while you were writing that etiquette essay." Neal shot a furious glare at the Prince who shrugged. "And that answer's wrong. It's three a plus seven b, not five. Now teach me, or I'll break your fingers."

"If you can do that, why do you want to learn how to headlock someone?" he demanded exasperatedly, resolving to have words with Roald later. Harsh words, he amended as she twisted his arm round another few degrees.

"I like making men cry."

"Well, you'll have another one on your hands if you don't let go," winced Neal. He could hear people sniggering in the background and resolved to make the lot of them sorry on the practise courts very soon.

She did. 

"Why don't you show her some Shang moves?" Merric recommended. The redhead seemed to find the this hysterical. "I bet Phillippa would love to make grown men fly as well." His eyes sparkled. 

Phillippa tore off her headscarf and secured her masses of curling brown hair. "That sounds good. Neal?"

"Look, if you're serious—"

"You know I am."

"—then you're going to have to get some more suitable clothes." He looked at her intricately embroidered clothes. "You cannot fight in those."

She kicked him in the shin. "I seem to be doing all right."

Neal's eyes narrowed in emerald slices. Then he moved forward fast, ducked the punch she threw at him and flipped her. She didn't scream, which he was impressed with, but promptly tried to grab his ankles and trip him, which he was not impressed with. After ten seconds of unscrupulous fighting, Neal ended up with her kneeling, both her arms locked behind her back.

"All right," she conceded. "I'll go change."

"Thank Mithros," Neal muttered.

She gave him a blinding smile and disappeared. Neal settled back down to his algebra. 

After about twenty minutes, Seaver tapped Neal on the shoulder. "Shouldn't that firecracker you've picked up with be back by now? She's only a few corridors down."

He was right. Frowning, Neal put his books away and walked down to the corridor. He heard a voice shouting words no lady and certainly no noblewoman should know and then the sound of a harsh slap.

Neal ran...and when he got to the source of the commotion, found Phillippa twisting violently in the grip of Vinson of Genlith.

Who was holding a knife to her throat.

****

Thoughts? Comments? Opinions? Mistakes?

My heartfelt thanks to the following :-) I love reading what you have to say, and hearing what you'd like to see more/less of:

Alec: Thanks :-) It snowed here - I had fun making snow angels...snow makes me revert back to a child. Are you in Oz? Just ya know, it being midsummer wherever you be.

Ariana: Well, personally, I'm all for plot complications. It's time to see what Neal is made of (apart from flesh, blood, water and oxygen.) Trust me...hmm...is that a good idea? I know a lot of peopel who would say not :-) Ta!

Dara: I think you may find out how one gets rid of that thing :-) I think the hcances of it handing Andrea over are about as likely as me stripping and dancing a hula, and I'm sorry for even putting that image to electronic paper. Thanks!

Jennifer: Thanks - I know Daine has good breeding, but I'm guessing most of the Tortallan dusty, narrow-minded 'old' court wouldn't. And they'd probably look down on her anyway because she's common.

Jinx: ::grins:: I think that's what's known as a kick-ass review :-) I'm thrilled you like it - and thank you for telling me so!

Kali Gurlie: Well, Neal's a guy. Sometimes it is not their head which does the thinking. Us authors like cliffhangers because (my opinion only) we like it when people ask us to write more and we have something exciting to write about.

Mage Melery: I-karumba girl, that's a review and a half! Thank you so much! I have that heights thing too. More than twenty feet up and I'm a shuddering clinging screaming wreck :-)

Me: Short n' sweet. I see you're a person who knows what you want - thanks!

Noel: Yay! Someone who likes cliffhangers :-) I have to say, I've never met anyone truly, terribly horrible without a reason...hence, Ryan philosophising...something bad - you're going to sing 'It's a Small World?'

Phantasea: Pip may indeed be a complication...I don't know whether I'm for Kel/Neal or not. I'm a romance sap and I think they're cute and all, but...I don't know...and that was *not* a lame review. It was an uncrippled, happily running review.

Quartz: Huh. Well, we didn't blow up. That's not fair! After all my preparation...and if you really want to confuse people, just look them in the eyes nad say 'I bank with the Abbey National' :-) Bound to get The Look. Thanks!

Queen of Sheba: brother, bother, aren't they the same :-) Thank you for that long and spirit-lifting list of adjectives! And I *will* continue. I don't think I could stop now :-) I'm addicted.

Wazzup Girl: Ah, extra punctuation :- A cunning way to expand crits :-) Thanks - I hear and obey! Yon Streetrat shall be seen more of (he is pretty danr important in the story, I have to say).

:o) : Well, I guess it is horrible...but I have never, ever claimed to be a nice person :-) And Neal's a guy. They do that. (Not to be bitter or anything :- ) And ya know, at the moment, Pip's just a friend.

And thank you also to everyone who commented on the poem :-) Ann, Mage Melery, Setsuna Mei Chocolat, Umm and the mysterious anonymous one.


	11. Menace and Mysteries

My huge, huge, huge apologies for this being so *disgustingly* late. I went back to school this week (I'm sure some of you could hear my screams.) and then my hard drive got erased in one fell swoop. But, all your wonderful, inspiring and thoughtful feedback made it (dare I say it?) bearable. Thank you: you are all angels and it's my deepest wish that your life is wreathed with rainbows :-)

Comments are purely worshipped and cherished! I love hearing what you think; do me a huge favour and share it.

Thanks!

Ki

Hanging On Part Eleven

The knife gleamed in the light, sending blue beams reflecting on to the wall. Neal swallowed hard and considered his next move very carefully. Vinson had to be *out* of his mind, assuming he had one, attacking a noblewoman.

"Leave her alone," Neal said, keeping his voice slow and calm. Phillippa's face was serene, trusting, her hands still. He was impressed; she didn't panic or squirm under the blade.

Vinson's eyes were wide and wild, like a frightened horse's. He didn't think he'd get caught, Neal realised. And he doesn't see any way out of it now. 

"Go away, Queenscove, or I'll hurt her," Vinson spat, his mouth trembling. 

"You won't," assured Neal. "If you do, there's no going back. You'll be handed over to the Goddess' warriors for punishment. As it is, you're running that risk. Just let her go."

"She wanted to," he said hoarsely. "Little tease, always pretending to ignore me."

"Pretending?" Phillippa said in outrage. She swallowed as the knife scraped along her neck. As he saw a thin line of blood blossom on her tanned skin, Neal winced inwardly. Only a shallow cut, but it showed just how close to the edge Vinson was.

"Whether she wanted to or not is hardly the issue," he argued, ignoring the enraged look in Phillippa's eyes that said he would be in some severe pain later for that. "The fact is, right now, you're holding a knife to her throat. Anyone comes along here and you'll be missing a few vital parts faster than you can blink. Do you know what the Goddess' warriors *do* to rapists?"

He could see the sickly hue to Vinson's face. Neal was getting to him. *Good*, he thought savagely. "I..."

"Let her go and we'll both keep quiet about this," Neal said mildly. "Hurt her, and I promise you, all the armies in this world will not stop me searching the length and breadth of this land until I track you down."

Vinson sneered. "You in love with her or something?"

Neal's disgusted look said everything. "Don't you have any comprehension of what being a knight *is*? Now *let her go*."

Tension hung in the air for a minute, the knife glinting at Phillippa's throat while Vinson's crazy eyes darted from side to side. Then he pushed her at Neal so roughly she fell into a heap on the polished floor, and ran throwing the knife aside. It clattered against a wall.

Neal knelt down beside her. "Are you okay, Phillippa?"

"It's Pip," she said, picking herself up without any help from him and dusting off her clothes. "After that, it's definitely Pip."

He ran a finger over her throat, healing the scratch. She wiped the blood away with her headscarf, not seeming to care that the stained silk was irreparable. Glancing at her hands, Neal saw they were rock-steady and was astonished.

She looked at him and grinned. She didn't seem at all shaken by what had happened. "You do a nice line in threats, Neal. I was just about to use Queen Thayet's self-defence lessons."

"Queen Thayet gives self-defence?" Neal in amazement. He was starting to realise he had really no idea what the ladies of the court got up to.

"Certainly." She had changed, he realised, into loose trousers and a short tunic that fell to her waist. Her hair was tamed into a neat, tight knot. "How to escape from men attacking you. Among other things."

"I'm probably going to regret asking this, but how?"

She grinned, eyes twinkling. "Stamp on their foot, then twist and knee them. While they're doubled over, double handed punch on the back of their neck, then kick them while they're down." She said it with such relish, Neal promptly vowed he would *never* sneak up on Phil—Pip.

"Right," she declared as they strode back to the library, where Neal's friends were. "So now you're going to teach me some Shang moves."

****

A week later:

Reality dawned a slow, simmering red. It clouded her thoughts as she moved and felt tiny white lightning bolts of pain shoot from her shoulders and legs. Hadn't there been something...

Andrea froze. The monster, there had been a monster and it had...hurt her. It had ripped its claws through her shoulders and screamed at her, *screamed* like something mad and possessed. And all there had been was that banshee voice ripping at her hearing, the red-tinged bolts of pain and then the soft, welcome embrace of darkness...

Someone was touching her.

She was almost paralysed with fear as she realised; a hand was stroking across her forehead with smooth, practised movements. She kept her eyes shut...she didn't know who it was or...or what they wanted of her. Andrea remembered how the men in the village had looked at her, with something hot and hungry in their eyes.

"Marc?" A high, hushed voice above her. A child? she thought, confused.

A low dragging sound. "I don't know." The voice was youthful, weary. "Ssssh! Shari, keep still. Or that damn lizard will be back again."

A little gasp and utterly mystified, Andrea opened her eyes. There was a face peering down at her, a round, cherubic face with huge dark eyes the coloured of polished oakwood in sunlight. The little girl gave a shriek and jumped back. "Marc!"

"I'm sorry," said Andrea hurriedly. She sat up and almost screamed as pain exploded in her shoulders.

"Oh, oh," the girl said. She couldn't have been more than six or seven, with the incredibly fair hair that dims into honey blond as childhood ends, the light vanishing from it. "Marc," she wailed. "She's bleeding!"

She lay back and as the pain subsided to a dull throbbing, Andrea was able to focus on her surroundings. A small, dim, damp room that was shrouded in darkness except for a pale rectangle of light that a skylight let in from at least fifteen feet above. There were bars across it. 

"All right, Shari. Hush, hush." That odd, dragging sound again and a new face appeared in her vision. "Can you hear me?"

"I can." He was pale, icy pale as if he had been drowning in chill waters for time beyond counting. His eyes were pure black, like two deep wells, but soft and shadowy. He had the most aristocratic face she had seen on any one, carved like a statue might be, but without any of its remoteness. "Who are you?"

"Marcus of Kennan. Do you know where you are?"

"There was...a beast." She recalled its pink scaly body and three eyes. "Like a dragon but wrong somehow. Terribly wrong."

"Ah. The Arachon. Part spider, part dragon, all mad." His touch of humour made her feel a little better. The boy frowned, shook overlong red hair from his eyes and touched her shoulders with careful, healer's hands. "It took rather too many chunks out of you."

Something caught up with her. Andrea's golden eyes widened, pushing away his hands. "You're a *noble*?"

His voice was pleasant. Oddly throaty and disturbingly sensual. No trace of a noble's lofty accent. But no roughness of a commoner's either.

"Once upon a moonbeam. It's not important. No, don't try to sit up." He grimaced slightly, and that odd dragging sound came again. "You'll only hurt yourself."

"What is that sound?" she said, trying to sit up and finding that despite his elegant looks, he was surprisingly strong. 

"Me." He smiled faintly. "The Arachon crippled me a few years back. Hush, girl, don't ask anymore questions. I'm going to heal you and I need to concentrate."

Pleasant heat flooded over her shoulder, like the warmth of a flame tickling at her. She relaxed completely, letting him heal without difficulty and as the pain faded bit by bit, she realised he was a healer of great skill. Slow, steady, and powerful.

"There. You can sit up now." She did, sliding her so she sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, looking at the boy, who had propped himself against a wall, legs stretching out in front of him. She saw he spoke the truth; his limbs were shrivelled and useless, the muscles hopelessly wasted. His eyelids fell with exhaustion, eyelashes making black crescents on his ashen face.

"May I...?" she asked and hesitated.

He dragged his eyes open with an effort. She could see he was bone weary. "May you what?"

She reached out and took his hands. They were cool, latticed with thin curving scars like whipmarks and one finger was missing. Then she sent a stream of golden energy through is body, saw him shiver convulsively and then let go, startled.

"Mithros, I see why she wants you now!" His lips were half-parted, breathing fast and almost panicked. "Warn me next time. But...thank you."

"No, thank *you*," she said hesitantly. "Was I...out long?"

"The red mage brought you in six days ago." Marcus beckoned gently and the fair-haired child scurried over to settle herself in his lap with a sweet smile. "Arachon's claws are poisoned. You were lucky. They tell me I was out for months after she severed my ligaments." His voice held no emotion, but she saw a muscle flicker near his jaw.

"I'm sorry." She saw now why his arms were so powerful; he had to haul himself everywhere. Not that the cell was large. "Why are you here?"

Marcus smiled. "You want my life story and I don't even have the pleasure of your name?"

She looked at him, and was like a phoenix burning in the gloom of the prison where Marc had been so long. For thirteen years of his life, he had been trapped here. Trapped because he had a Gift powerful enough to tempt the Arachon; she liked rare things, and magical rare things especially. They were her servants, her play-things...her weapons.

This girl was startling; her skin was smooth and clean, marred only by the dirt of the cell. Her hair gleamed bright gold, her eyes like molten fire. She was the most beautiful creature he had seen, smouldering in the dark like fire, and he was surprised at her power. She looked fragile as spun glass, and yet had power to call down a storm.

"Andrea," she said softly. "Andrea Kirisra."

"Andrea." He smiled and ruffled the white-gold hair of the child on his lap who sucked her thumb. "Andrea, this is Shari. We think she's from Scanra."

"Hello," said Andrea, reaching out. Shari wriggled and then ran over to the girl to coil in her arms. Marc watched, startled. Shari clung to him usually, and he had grown used to the warm weight of her at night, when she refused to sleep alone in the dark, and in the day, when a memory of 'interviews' with the Arachon plagued her.

"'Lo," she whispered and gave Andrea the seraphic, dazzling smile she rarely showed anymore. 

"Your life story?" the girl said, her fearful gold eyes striking chords on his soul.

Marc swallowed. "It's long and I should warn you, very dull."

"We have time," she said.

****

"A week!" Bruna groaned, swinging her now messy and rat-tailed brown hair over of her face. The rain sleeted down on the four travellers, dripping down their faces in cold rivulets. Shoulders slumped, they rode on, the horses hooves splatting on the muddy road. "One gods-cursed week chasing after some commoner rat who's probably dead by now—"

"She ain't," Ryan snapped, pushing dripping tendrils of hair from his eyes which were a soft, smoky grey that matched the sky above. "I'd know, so why don't ye quit your bitchin' and shut up? I've met dogs that whined less."

"That doesn't surprise me," the noblewoman said tartly, her tones filled haughty superiority. "They seem about your level."

"Tell me," interjected Kel. She detested Bruna even more than when they had started this trip, if possible. "How are the pond scum this week?"

"Children, *enough*!" Numair Salmalin's voice cut the air like a well-honed blade. "The three of you have done nothing but argue for the past five days. Show a little mercy! There's enough unpleasantness about this ride without the three of you sniping. I know it's wet and you're tired and aching, but complaining won't change any of this. We'll stop soon and set up camp for the night."

"We're close now," said Ryan, his thin face alight. "I can feel it."

The mage glanced at him, coal-black eyes unreadable. "How close?"

"A mile or two." The boy shrugged, shivering slightly as they struggled on through the rain and fog that clouded their way. "She's been here. It's like...footprints. Magical ones, like."

"Interesting," the mage said. "I've never come across such a phenomenon. You two appear to be linked very closely. And you say the alicorn told you to look to your blood for the answer?"

"Aye." 

The blood was washing off Kel's face now; they had heeded the alicorn's warning and strayed clear of the villages now. Even wayfarer's they passed on the road gave them suspicious, icy glances and muttered among themselves. This morning, they had stumbled over a tiny collection of houses hidden in the mist and had had stones flung at them for their trouble. All of them sported cuts and bruises, and they had galloped away hastily.

"Y'okay there, Kel?" the streetboy said, giving her a weary grin. In the week that had passed, Kel had discovered that Ryan had a quicksilver wit and a devilishly fast punch. He had been teaching her to streetfight, and hand to hand combat had become more hand to elbows, teeth, knees and nails. In return, she had taught him basic survival skills and a little of what he called 'noble's fightin'. 

"Soaked to the skin. Can't you cast a spell to keep the rain off?"

A flicker of those sharp eyes. "I ain't been taught that."

"Then that shall be tonight's lesson," Nuamir Salmalin said with a sigh. "At least the woodlands are bereft of immortal creatures now."

"I don't think it is," Bruna objected. Kel and Ryan exchanged a look of mutual apathy. "I've seen the trees move."

"We call that 'wind'," Ryan explained slowly, as if he was talking to an idiot child.

Her full mouth curled, but with her clothes covered in mud and her hair a mess, somehow, it just didn't have the same effect. "You don't get wind and fog, streetrat. Whatever's moving the trees, it's alive. And it's been following us."

"Those aren't immortals," the mage murmured. But there was an uneasy, chilling note to his voice.

"Ye've known about them?" Ryan looked about restlessly, keen gaze stabbing at the dark layer of foliage that crowned the sides of the road. "Why ain't we doin' anythin'?"

"Because this is the beginning their land," he answered, drawing his cloak closer around him, "and we may need to bargain to cross its frontiers. They will make themselves known soon."

"Soon?" Kel reached under her cloak to check her long knife was still there. The bulk and weight of the metal was reassuring. "How soon?"

"I wouldn't worry, Squire Keladry." The flat silence around them seemed more eerie, waiting somehow. "They are nothing to harm us. Not anymore."

They rode on, Kel's hearting beating so hard and loud she thought the others must surely hear it, every sense whetted by her fear. Her hazel eyes darted around, her hands tight on the reins. If only she hadn't insulted Bruna what seemed like an eternity ago. She wouldn't be on this unnerving, strange hunt chasing the phantom of a golden-haired girl.

Peachblossom reared with a shrill neigh and she clung on desperately, praying he would remember she was here and she was going to hit the ground very hard if he didn't *stop*.

"Easy," she whispered, as he fell to the ground, stroking his long, trembling neck. "Easy, boy. There's nothing—"

But there was. Oh sweet Goddess, there was.

They came from the mist like hunched shadows, some moving in scuttling, light steps, others slowly and heavily. The first thing Kel saw was their eyes; horrible, glittering orbs of a thousand thousand colours like a rainbow struck with a hammer until it shattered into scintillating fragments. 

And then she saw their bodies and wanted to stop and retch. The horror rose up in her like a shrieking wave, terrible, wretched and horrified.

They were like an immortal gone wrong; bodies melded together of pieces of animals, claws, tails, teeth catching her eye. Deformed and repellent, she had to swallow several times before she could trust herself to breathe again.

One of them stepped forward, huge overgrown teeth stretching to its chin like chunks of ivory. "Yyyyou..." it hissed. Its voice was hard to make out, almost strangled. "arrrrre wellllcome herrre."

"Thank you," the mage said solemnly. He half-bowed from the saddle. "We are searching for a girl; a mage, young. She passed this way sometime ago."

The thing turned back to its fellows and chattered in a strange grotesque language that was a combination of slavering growls and high-pitched clicks. Kel saw a pair of tiny, useless wings curled on its back. They looked half-rotted.

"She had gold hair," Ryan put in. Kel could see he was trying not to stare. "An' gold eyes. Gold Gift."

The leader froze and turned back. "We sawwww herrrr. Took herrrrr. She rrrran. Ourrrr rrrregrrrret. Did not know she was yourrrrs."

The mage nodded. "May we cross your lands?"

"You may..." It paused, as if searching for words in a language it had long forgotten. "Willlll not hunt you. Ware the Arrrrrachon. Is nearrrrr."

The figures hobbled away, melting into the mist with disturbing swiftness. All of them were silent. Kel felt her pulse, beating at her temples and felt a wave of cool relief wash through her body. It was only then she realised how much they had scared her.

"Master Salmalin?" she said in a faint, thin voice that didn't sound at all like her. "What were they?"

The man sighed. "Let us set up camp first, Squire Keladry. This is not a matter to be discussed in the open."

"Secret, is it?" Ryan said lightly, though he was still pale.

"This is the darkest secret of the Gifted and the realm," came the grave answer, and when she looked at the man's face, startled, she saw only a kind of grimness there. "They should never have been...but we lost control. We lost them all."

****

I hope you liked: if you did, hit that l'il review button, please, and if you didn't, hit that l'il review button, please :-) Either way, I'd like to know! Comments would be loved!

My undying gratitude and super-happy vibes to the following amazing people :-) I love reading what you have to say, and hearing what you'd like to see more/less of:

Alec: :-) I didn't know there *was* a netball cup (I do play netball and love it...but it gets s*d all TV coverage here.) And as for Kel...watch this space!

Camilla: Well, the snow here is gone now :-) We are left in the grip of icy cold. And potential petrol strikes *again*...FOF will be out soon – thanks for reviewing it!

Daine Sarrasri: Sure, feel free to use the alicorn :-) The name's not my creation, though the appearance of the creature is! I think some of the noble men need a good butt-kicking. Thanks! My muses tend not just to bite, but to put seasoning on and bake me first :-)

Dara: I like making new Immortals :-) It's fun. There will definitely be more! I need a name for the beastie that's got Andrea, actually...

Euclara: You don't have the books! Oh no! You're missing out! Do what I did :-) Beg your parents to buy them from Amazon...Neal through fanfiction *probably* isn't always true - TP's the only one who can really write him, 'cause she created him. Some guys aren't like that :-) I have yet to meet one, but you live in hope.

Firelily: Thank you, thank you, thank you! No, we don't have the vilalge barrel or the thumbtack, but i have a feeling I guess what the sayings are :-) Glad you're liking - thank you so much!

Francesca: Thanks for reviewing :-) There should be more soon...though as I'm back at school (argh!) now, the parts may be a while in getting here.

Harkly: Pip's fun to write :-) She's a girl who knows what she wants. Daine will eb in it later - pretty much all TP's characters are at some point. Nah, that ain't whining (take from me, I'm a master at the art of it. g)

Jinx: Pip comes into the story quite a bit (I like creating new characters...it's fun.) I will try to keep it up! Thank you so much :-) Babbling? Not even close (talk to my mad friends...they never shut up.)

Kali Gurlie: What *exactly*...well, at the moment, the foundations of a good friendship. Phillippa? It's just a name I've always liked...and it has the short form Pip, which I think is cute. :-) I'm working as quick as I can!

Leevee of TS: Short n' sweet! Thanks very much - I'm over the moon that you like it!

Mage Melery: Wow, what a review! Ike! Yeah, the break me/shake me is Savage Garden - that's my fave song on the first album. (But Affirmation is *so* good.) Andrea didn't fit this time :-) I have to stop *somewhere* or everyone will tell me it's too long! Ryan told Bruna exactly that. I pity your brother :-)

ME: Neal is a bit of a crush butterfly, I get the feeling.The alicorn is a mythical creature...though I did make up parts of what it looked like. Artistic license, right? :-) 

Melissa: Wow! Talk about catch-up with a vengeance :-) Thanks so much for all the comments; I'm sure I'm not a pro author (hah, yeah, I wish!), I'm overjoyed you're liking the stories, and thank you for all the wonderful comments!

Noel: Yeah, I wanted Pip to be normal :-) She has no urges to conquer the world or fight Shang warriors, but she does want to be *useful*. Neal's a guy :-) He does the guy stuff. And also...he's confused. Thank you for all those lovely, blush-making adjectives! No! Anything but It's A Small World!

Phoenix Girl: Well, there's not a lot I can do about cliffhangers...but I will try to get the next part out soon - it may take a little longer now I'm back at school (I get, and I kid you not, 20 hours of homework a week.) but I will do my damnedest. Thanks!

Quartz: Hello, O Mad One! ;-) Pip isn't evil...she's just...there...he's not cheating yet. As I say, Andrea didn't fit - I'm trying to keep the story to around 6 pages, as after that, I get the usual 'it's too long!' complaints. But if y'all don't mind longer parts, hey, I'm happy to write more. :-)

Sparrow: Thanks :-) It's mad playing catch-up with fics, isn't it? How long? I don't know...whenever it stops. The longest story I've ever written was 20 parts. I would guess about that. Quite a lot still ahs to happen :-) though I can't say what!

The Silver Mist Tigress: (Wow, what a fabulous name...I hear that and I instantly have a story.) I like making new creatures - TP's Swords and Sorcery/fantasy world just fasciantes me. Plus, I took latin :-) You get a lot of mythology.

Wazzup Girl: Ryan and Kel, huh? Hmmm...I'll have to give that one some thought. There *will* be romance for Kel at some point fairly soon...I can say that much.


	12. Knights and Nights

Sorry this is so late – I've been ill this week. Thank you all for being so wonderfully patient – as ever, for details, look to the end :-). You're all stars and long may you shine!

Anything you have to say would be purely worshipped. It's that simple. I can take criticism.

Ki

Hanging On Part Twelve

Neal ducked as the staff whistled by his head. Phillippa ha Minch was wielding it like she meant business, the varnished wood gleaming golden-brown as it looped through the air, back and forth in her expert, vengeful hands.

"Watch it, Pip!" he said indignantly. "That was close!"

Wood hit wood in an impact that jarred his arms. "Pip!"

Her green eyes were narrowed and furious, her teeth showing under her skinned-back lips. Swing after swing after swing as she slammed the staff at him wrathfully, not caring she was leaving wide open holes in her guard.

Neal backed away, trying not to hurt her as he parried the blows that were starting to make his arms ache. "What on earth is wrong with you?"

She threw the staff at him in a display of temper he had never seen. In a week, Pip had spent most of her free time with him, learning how to fight like no lady ought, joking with all his friends and giving icy-cold glares to anyone who dared pass misinformed judgment on why she was there.

"I don't know!" she shouted. "Why don't you tell me? Am I stupid or a flirt or an over-priced whore? Do I have a flag screaming 'hate me' attached?"

"What?" Confused, Neal looked hard at her small, angry face and saw she was utterly serious. "Of course not. Who's been saying that kind of rubbish?"

"I don't know!" she hurled back, colour blooming in her face like twin crimson roses. "But they have and the court won't...the ladies...and..." And to his complete astonishment, she sank down onto the floor and buried her face in her hands. He could see her shoulders shaking, hear her gulping in ragged breaths and realised she was crying.

"Pip?" he said cautiously, putting down the staff and walking slowly, carefully towards that huddled figure, like he might a temperamental crocodile. 

"Go away!" her muffled voice said, husky with tears. "I know you think I'm just some stupid *girl*..."

"No I don't!" Neal said indignantly. "My dear, you may be a girl, but stupid is the last thing you will ever be. Take it from one who is learned in the art – stupidity is something it takes time to acquire and you certainly don't sit still long enough to have grasped it so quickly."

A shaky laugh. "You're no fool."

"And it takes one to know one, so neither are you," he said promptly and was reassured when she glanced up briefly. Crying girls were a new one on him. He had seen Kel cry, once or twice, but it was always because she was hurt, not because she was upset.

Neal sat down quietly on the wooden floor of the practice room. "So someone's been spreading rumours about you at court?"

She flicked away her tears angrily, as if she was embarrassed to be crying. He didn't really mind; it was nice to see a more normal side of Pip rather than the hot, fierce person that was all she had shown him so far. "Not just me. About my family...about Ian..."

"Ian?" The name struck a chord. He was sure he had seen it written down somewhere...on one of the numerous scrolls they had been set to study (much to Neal's delight) for their strategies class. "Ianos ha Minch...wasn't he killed in the Immortals War? In the Battle of Port Legann?"

"That's what makes me so *angry*!" snarled Pip, her lovely green eyes dripping sparks of loathing. The tears that fell, he saw, had been ones of rage. Of frustration against an invisible enemy. "He can't even *defend* himself against what they're saying...and they think I can't hear them whispering and giggling, but I do...I do."

"Sounds like the court to me," Neal said and heaved a sigh. "In the University, the grapevine moved faster than the Lioness on a rampage." He smiled ruefully, his intelligent face briefly distant in old memories. "And it was very easy to fool it. I remember telling someone that Melliah of Naxen had broken off her betrothal. Next day, her husband-to-be ended up punching three over-amorous suitors, one of whom happened to be my best friend. I never told him who started the rumour."

Pip gave him the ghost of a smile that didn't reach her sorrowful, livid eyes. "But how can I stop it?"

"Fight back," Neal said promptly. "Dish the dirt on Vinson...I'll bet you anything it's him. He's too much of a coward to fight honourably."

"But I don't know anything about him!" she protested.

Neal gave her a sly grin. "He didn't know anything about you either, my dear noblewoman. Use that wicked imagination of yours."

Realisation dawned in hers eyes and all she said was "Oh..."

Neal had the feeling Vinson had forgotten to look before he leapt.

****

The campfire was burning bright and fierce; Ryan had lit it with a cheeky grin and a snap of his fingers. They were huddled close round it now, eating dry trail rations and swapping jokes. Somehow though, in the eerie silence and smothering darkness, Kel wasn't hungry.

"You goin' to tell us 'bout those things then?" said Ryan abruptly. His intense grey gaze was fixed on Numair Salamlin. The mage had been quiet and edgy all evening and had even snapped at Bruna when she dared complain about the hardness of the ground.

"I suppose I should," replied the mage. His dark eyes were like endless pits as Kel looked at his drawn face. "It's one of the secrets of the realm. Only the King and his close advisors know it...and until now, I had never met any of them. No one has. They're a legend in the kingdom's scrolls, but a dangerous legend at that."

Kel remembered the strange, misshapen creatures that owned these lands and shuddered. Gleams of jagged teeth, of many-jointed arms and hunched backs, of flat, pustule-covered feet. Ryan looked at her in concern and put a reassuring hand on her wrist. She met those dove-grey eyes, surprised, and he shrugged and smiled slightly.

On the other side of the fire, Bruna, her face lit demonically by the fire stared over at them. Her face looked oddly drawn in the flickering lights, her eyes simply two vortexes that held no light, not even the reflection of the dancing flames.

"It was a long time ago," began Numair Salmalin softly. His husky voice swelled through the night, beautiful as a wolf's howl and holding some of that wildness in it. "Five hundred years; even our ancestors were children then, playing in a world where magic had just been born. New powers sprang up like volcanoes, sudden and sometimes lethal. They didn't know much then, but as time passed, they learned about the different types of magic. Three types: immortal magic, mortal magic, and the magic of the gods themselves."

"But—" The mage stilled Ryan by merely holding up a hand. The boy sighed quietly and waited. He wouldn't have done *that* a week ago, Kel thought.

"One day, a mage trapped an immortal. It was a unicorn, a beautiful thing, and he killed it and took its blood. But the unicorn cut his flesh with its horn as it tried to escape; and it died, yet not before its blood had mixed with the mage's. He was given new powers; powers to shapeshift into not one creature but many, without the terrible exhaustion that mortal magic – what we call the Gift – caused."

All of them were silent. Kel could feel a cold wind on her right side, and Ryan on her left, keeping her warm. She glanced up and saw only empty blackness. Not a single star touched the night sky, nothing disturbed that flawless indigo sweep.

"And so was born Wild Magic. It was not the magic we have today; even Daine Sarrasri," and a faint glimmer of affection touched the mage's swarthy face, "has not one tenth of the power they had then. Because they created Wild Magic in its purest form; countless immortals were trapped and killed for the purity and power of their blood. Wild Mages were more common even than the Gifted. Why, reasoned those who had only a small Gift, should they waste so much time trying to learn spells when they could have such power with a little pain?"

"What happened?" breathed Kel as he faltered. She was wrapped up in the tale, seeing in her mind's eye the poor and the rich alike, dipping their hands into silvery blood, warping and changing into creature after creature, running in immense packs around an untamed land.

"It all went wrong," the mage said quietly. "It went so horribly wrong."

She shivered again, despite her layers of furs and hide.

"I don't suppose any of you are old enough or powerful enough to understand, but magic is a volatile thing. If it is abused, it can erupt without warning. It is as dangerous as it is helpful." He stared unseeingly at the tongues of red-orange that licked at the night air. "Too many people, too many shapeshifting over and over and over. They stretched their magic to its limits, stretched their bodies and their minds. And once they began to shapeshift, the release and the joy it brought became addictive. They couldn't stop, and they didn't want to."

In her mind's eyes, she saw those odd hordes of people, their hands shrinking and growing, sprouting claws and fur. Their bodies contorting into new, exciting shapes and doing things they had never been able to before. Leaping vast chasms, flickering through stormy waters without fear of hurt of death, swooping through gleaming azure skies in intricate, easy patterns.

"And eventually, it rebounded on them. The magic hit back, and it hit back hard. It was all drawn from the same source you see; all our magic is. All those creatures they had tried to become, and suddenly, they could not control their shapeshifting. Parts of them changed, others did not. They became a mix of creatures, forced into grotesque shapes by the magic they abused and stole so thoughtlessly."

"Those creatures," said Ryan flatly. 

"The halflings. Yes. And of course, their horrific appearance caused such horror among the ordinary people. Most of them couldn't even speak anymore; no one even recognised that they were human. So they hunted down the halflings, they tortured them and killed them. It even became a popular bloodsport for a while. Eventually, one of them made itself heard to the King."

He took a deep breath. "Of course, King Jonathan the First realised that there would be absolute chaos if this news got out. Some of the halflings had been killed by their own unknowing families. So he struck a deal with them; that they would hold these silent woodland lands, and rule them as they liked. He would tell his trusted counsellors of them, and every year, a toll would be paid to them for wayfarers crossing their lands."

"So...those were the children of them?"

There was a high, hard laugh. Bruna's eyes were wild as Kel stared at her, wondering at the girl's expression, somewhere between terror and anger. "Oh no. Those aren't their *children*."

"They...can't be the same ones," said Ryan uncertainly. "And what would you know?"

"My father's lands border these," she said shortly. 

Her father? But if he owned the lands they were about to enter, the ones that had been scoured of all magic and magic wielders then that would mean—

"Oh yes," said Bruna. Kel blinked to find the girl's large, bare eyes pinning hers. "My father doesn't like magic. In fact...you might say he'd *kill* to avoid it."

Her words sunk in slowly. "He's—" began Kel.

"A murderer!" the girl snapped, leaping to her feet. There was loathing glittering in her beautiful face, but Kel wasn't sure who it was for. "Nothing but a bigot and a murderer."

She stood, frozen and breathing hard in the hellish glow of the fire, staring at them like a cornered deer, then she turned and flung herself down on the ground, pulling her cloak over her. As far away from them as she could get in the confines of the warding circle.

The mage shook his head at them when Ryan opened his mouth to say something. "They cannot die," he murmured softly. "That is the blessing of true Wild Magic; that is its curse. Anyone touched with Wild Magic can survive what would kill normal people. But those whose hearts are aglow with it can survive everything. They are doomed to see eternity, and doomed to be forbidden from truly experiencing it."

It seemed a dreadful barren existence to Kel. Desperately unfair; maybe some of those people had deserved it, but most, she was sure, were ordinary. Ordinary and they had become nothing but hated monsters.

He stood up, dusting off his clothes. "That's enough doom and gloom. Get some sleep; we have a long ride tomorrow."

With a wave of his hand, he extinguished the fire. 

****

"I was very young when they took me..."

Andrea hugged the little girl who sat on her lap in the dank cold dungeon, feeling on a shaft of pity at the dreamy, utterly lost expression on Marc – Marcus of Kennan's – face. The faint traces of a noble's accent still arched in his voice, but his eyes were gentle.

"I don't remember much," He frowned. "I always knew I was special. They used to treat me so well, encouraging me to use my Gift, rewarding me, cuddling me. I don't suppose the Crown Children were treated better. Mithros, I was an arrogant little bastard! Three years old and with half the damn fief wrapped around my revoltingly fat little finger."

Oh, the contrast now; his red hair was long and ungroomed, cut untidily around his stark, haunted face. His clothes were rags, his legs wasted from where the Arachon, a cruel magical creature that held them all captive, had attacked him. And not arrogant, but almost amused about his situation. 

"Like I say, I was arrogant. I learned to ride almost as soon as I was born; and at the age of five, they gave me my own pony, hideous screaming brat that I was. I had a voice that could creak walls." 

"It doesn't sound that way now," said Andrea, smiling as the blond child on her lap laid her head down and fell asleep. 

Marc's voice was a soft, sensual husk. He raised his eyebrows.

"Too much screaming. The Arachon likes to play." At her wince, he smiled again. He had a wide, generous mouth that looked like it was made for happiness, a contrast with the lines and scars on his face. "Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," she answered, though that was untrue. Everything about the way this boy had been treated upset her. "Please, carry on."

"I used to ride out every day. They'd tell me of the dangers; my mother used to say that bandits would get me, or that Carthaki raiders would chop off my head. I loved the idea of that. Excitement, adventure – I couldn't get enough of it. I couldn't wait to be sent to be a page, or a great mage.I was going to change the world."

"Stupid. Disobeying their orders. My father was away often, and on the occasions he came back, he gave me the thrashing of my short life. He was the only one I respected. But he wasn't there the day I rode out, furious because one of the other kids had thrown a stone at me...I don't recall exactly. I rode for hours and hours, angry at everything and secretly enjoying how worried they would all be an how much they'd pamper me when I got back."

He paused, his eyes focusing on her. "I didn't get back. The Arachon caught me while I was drinking from a stream. I was so *terrified*, I just threw all my Gift at her. What little I had – I had no control, not enough knowledge. It was like using a fly swatter on a cheetah. She hit me into oblivion and I woke up...here."

"How long?" the girl whispered. He enjoyed looking at her; at her unusual, if not pretty, face, flushed and framed by a halo of cloudy golden hair. 

"Thirteen years, give or take. About. I've lost count. It might be longer – it might be less, time seems to go on forever in here. Sometimes the Arachon wants to talk to me. Wants to use my magic, that means, or torture me. It amuses her. It'll be the same for you."

"What about escape?" she breathed. 

"Don't bother." Marc hated telling her that and seeing the hope on her face snuffed out swift as a candle, but it was the truth. "She's too powerful."

He could see she didn't believe him, but tactfully, Andrea said instead, "Do you ever think about them? Your family?"

Marc sighed. "Often. I always wonder if I have any brothers or sisters, or if my parents blame themselves. I hope they don't. It was all my fault. And I dream about Kennan in the summer. It was so lovely – like the Realms of the Gods fallen to earth."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry."

"No," Marc said softly. "I am."

****

She couldn't sleep. The images of those poor, deformed creatures, unable even to die slipped through her head. Face after grotesque face until she couldn't bear it anymore. Why do I have to have a conscience? thought Kel glumly. This doesn't bother any of the rest of them. You would have thought all those years in the Yamani Isles, learning to hide my emotions would have taught me to ignore them too.

She slipped out into the night, taking her sword and moving silently; years of slithering through stone halls in a silk kimono had taught her to move like a jungle cat. She barely hesitated before crossing the wards, needing to be away from everyone else, somewhere she could think. There was no danger here; the halflings had let them pass, and there were no immortals left.

Kel sat on a mossy log, shivering a little at the coolness of the air, and stared out into the silken quiescence of the shadows. Her eyesight was adjusting slowly; she could make out the shapes of trees swaying in the wind like waving arms.

"You too, huh?" 

She turned at the voice and saw a slender silhouette detach itself from the darkness. Ryan sat down beside her, his eyes distant. In the night, they were no longer grey but a soft, shadowy black. She could barely see his expression.

"I keep thinkin' about 'em," he confessed. He picked up a stone and threw it idly. "An' I can't even imagine it. Bein' trapped like that an' hatin' people so much for makin' 'em outcasts. No one should be forced away from their home. It's wrong."

"They scared me," said Kel softly. It wasn't often she admitted to fear, but somehow, saying it aloud made it better. Now it wasn't just a faint phantom, flitting through the corners of her mind. It was something she could confront.

"You an' me both, lass." His teeth flashed white in the gloom. It wasn't a smile. "I ain't never seen anythin' like that. An' hearin' that mage just sayin' it so calmly...all the horrible things that happened to 'em."

"Magic scares me sometimes," said Kel quietly. "The Wildmage...she's so nice, but sometimes, it seems like there's *more* to her than other people. Like she can see things I can't even imagine."

"Magic is scary," he agreed. "I can't get angry or upset, or I can't control what happens. An' not bein' in control means people might get hurt. I don't want that. Even Bruna...she's a witch all right, but I wouldn't want to hurt her. No one deserves what magic can do."

They sat in silence for a moment, then his voice filled the silence, rough and youthful and undeniably strong.

"But it's beautiful too. I can't tell ye what it's like to feel the magic runnin' through ye." Then an odd, thoughtful note entered his voice. "I can show ye though. If ye want."

"What do you mean?" said Kel quietly.

"Master Numair was teachin' us t'other night. How to pour the Gift into someone else an' let them use it. He said it's advanced, but we had the power to cope with it." He laughed quietly. "An' it would teach us control. He's obsessed with bleedin' control."

"I'd like that." Kel had always wondered what being Gifted really meant.

"I ought to warn you..." he paused, and she searched for meaning in the shadowed planes of his face. "Look, it might hurt...it worked with Master Salmalin, but I ain't sure if it'll work with non-Gifted, like. He said it would, but..."

"I trust you," said Kel firmly.

"You do?" He sounded absolutely amazed. "But ye barely know me!"

"You saved my life. I saved yours. If I can't trust you after that, I might as well cut my own head off now and save someone else the trouble," she told him simply. "It's only going to get more dangerous from here on. If I couldn't trust you, we'd really be in trouble."

There was a pause and then, "Thanks."

His hands came up to cup her face, touch cool and sure. Uncertain what to do, Kel sat still, as she had always been taught with magic, and relaxed. "We need to be touchin'," he explained softly. "Master Salmalin reckons there are points of energy on your body...he called them shamrocks, or somethin'."

"Chakras," murmured Kel. It was a Yamani teaching; each chakra responded to a different element. There were seven, running down the body.

"Aye, that's it. Ye've done this afore?" His breath was soft on her face, like the tiny feather touches of mist.

She tried to shake her head, forgetting he held it still. "They believe that in the Yamani Isles. I was brought up there."

"Ah. Well anyway, I'm goin' to use the one on your forehead because the others are...um...in other places that...well, let's just say I don't know ye well enough." She had never heard Ryan sound embarrassed before, and it made her mouth twitch with laughter.

"Now," he instructed softly, "Just breathe and relax."

He leaned his forehead against hers, and she felt the chakra on her forehead, which she had often sensed in meditation, tingle lightly. She shut her eyes, feeling the warmth that radiated from his hands and body. She had never been this close to anyone she wasn't trying to fight.

Magic jolted through her and she shivered, feeling waves of what felt like sun-warmed sea-water wash through her in gentle pulses, from her head down to her feet. A glowing turquoise light bubbled across her eyelids, and she could feel power nearby, like a sleeping tiger coiled deep inside.

"Open your eyes," he said, letting go and she did. Kel gasped. His eyes were a perfect, sparkling blue-green, like a dash of summer seared onto the night. And she could see a faint azure aura glowing around him...and herself. Kel raised her hands, turned them to look at the glittering veil of light spread over it.

"It's...amazing," she whispered. She turned to look at the woodland and gasped again. The sky was a mad clash of colours, ranging from deepest darkest indigo to an almost white-blue. "Is it...always like this for you?"

"Is what always like this?" he asked.

"The sky...there's so many colours. And the *stars*..." She hadn't been able to see them before, but now she saw rainbow points of light hovering above. And the moon, a ghostly silver orb. "It's...breath-taking."

"You mean this ain't what you usually see?" She turned back and realised her night vision had improved. Every line of his face was illuminated, even without the eerie blue glow. "I thought it was just the aura that the magic brought. I ain't known about it very long."

"No," she said wonderingly. "The sky is only one colour. And the stars are white, not every colour..."

"Sounds borin'," he drawled and she smiled. "Do ye want to try a spell?"

"How?"

He took her hands, a glimmer of amusement in his face. "You got to be careful. Controlled, like." He said the words in a wry mockery of Master Salmalin. "Can you feel the Gift?"

She nodded.

"Good. Just reach inside and imagine drawing on it, like you were taking a drink from a stream. Then think of what ye want to do, and imagine the magic shinin' round it."

What did she want to do? Kel thought of her sword, rusty from the rain and travelling, however much she scoured and polished. She imagined the light lifting away the rust, leaving a gleaming blade, and drew on the magic. It filled her head, cool and clean.

"Nicely done," he said, and she blinked to see her sword good as new.

"Can you still use the magic too?" she asked.

"Think so."

"What do you want to do?" Kel said absently, turning the sword in the light of her new aura.

She was startled as he put two fingers to her cheek to gently turn her face towards him, her hazel eyes widening to deep bronze. There was an odd, endearing shyness in his face as he said, "This," and kissed her.

****

Thoughts? Comments? Opinions – please? I'd love to hear what you have to say!

Large quantities of Hagen Daaz and hugs to all the fabulous people who reviewed :-) Thank you! May all your dreams come true!

the amazing Ariana: LOL! Thank you :-) What can you say...well, if you see anything you don't like, point it out (I don't get offended by criticism.), anything you'd like to happen...any interesting words (quaquaversal, for example)

the divine Dead Flower: I have no idea about the relationships! They're so *tangled* at the moment, I'll have to see what happens. You may get the unfortunate situation of a second story, depends how it goes. No one needs school - everyone just thinks we do!

the delightful Daine: My pleasure :-) Everyone is free to use the creations of my weird little mind, I mean what kind of person would say no? 'Course I respond: you've taken time a) to read b) to tell me what you think so it's only fair I return the favour - plus, I like it!

the fantastic Firelily: ::grins:: Guilty as charged. I've been very short on time lately, and not feeling so good to boot, so any proofreading has been done with me semi-comatose. It is Salmalin; I checked with the books. Thanks!

the jazzy Jinx: 25 inches of snow? Ike, we had about 3! New creatures are fun :-) I have too much imagination, so this is a good way to get rid of the overspill! Your exams got postponed? Lucky you; mine start in two weeks. I am totally thrilled you're liking; thanks for reviewing!

the kick-ass Kira: I'm trying to get around a part a week up :-) Now that I'm back at school, I have less time; but to make up for the parts being less frequent, they'll be a little longer. Vinson is a slimeball, in my humble opinion :-) Ta!

the marvellous Mage Melery: Thank you! It may be a short review, but every word's gold :-) I'm over the moon that you like this!

the magical Maple: Good luck with your finals! I'm sending out studious vibes :-) You may have to wrestle various characters for Ryan...he's his own person...thank you to both of you :-) Enjoy the rest!

the mega ME: Short and very sweet :-) Thank you so much!

the magnificent Mel! : My inspiration? I have not a blessed idea. I read a lot, I listen to music that puts me in whatever mood I want to be writing (Sarah McLachlan works wonders), and I just...sit down and write :-) It's a bit of a mystery really! Thanks!

the miraculous Molly-Ann: Hiya! Thank you so much for reviewing :-) I'd love someone to beta - the downside is it takes me so long to write a part, it'd take ages before it got sent out, but when the holidays come round (Oh, please let it be soon) if you'd still like to, I'd love some help! An hour? Fraggit! Thank you so much!

the 'ncredible Noel: What a list! Wow! Many many thanks. Oh don't worry, you get to see Pip deal with Vinson :-) Ryan and Andrea *aren't* related, I'll say that much...thank you for the heowge review, and there will be romance, though I say not for who!

the phenomenal Phantasea: I just have an over-active imagination :-) I don't know where ideas come from; I just...think about what could happen and ways I could make that thing happen. :;smiles:: I'm completely awed that you like the story! Ya know, I thought wow, I'll be lucky if anyone reads this, and there's all you wonderful people who are so patient and encouraging. 

the quaquaversal Quartz: School bad. Bad. Do *not* apologise for the late review - I'm privileged you reviewed at all! You could review in ten years time, and assuming no one's murdered me for being so damn annoying, I'd still be happy! Glad you liked :-) And maybe you should find a substitute for the pills, like...chocolate!

the tremendous Team Socket: Thank you! Neal and Pip...I'm not sure. Possibly - I'm surprised actually...quite a few people seem to be in favour of Kel and Ryan. Anyways, I'll just see what the story wants to do (I swear, I have *no* control)

the terrific Tyr: Marc n' Andrea? That's one I hadn't considered...hmmmmm...interesting :-) Let's see what happens! Thank you so much for the encouragement :-) It makes me write!

the wonderful Wazzup Girl: ::grins:: I like TP's world...it has so much potential, especially with the Immortals. Neal and Bruna? Oh my, what a scary thought...and as for Kel and Ryan :-) Watch this space. Well, not *this* one but...oh, you know what I mean.

the enigmatic :o): Hey, don't apologise for reviewing late! You don't *have* to review at all...I'm honoured that you do! And believe, I know all about crashing computers. Hmm...Ryan being nasty...well, she does deserve it, but...well...I'll leave it as a surprise :-)


	13. Kisses and Kicks

Thank you so much to all you wonderful, patient people who have stuck with this story :-) I have to apologise; my mock exams start on Monday and go on for two weeks, so I will *try* desperately to get the parts out, but please bear with me. I really *do* need to pass these exams, even if they are just mocks. And my eternal thanks to all of you who commented on the last part :-) You are truly inspiring!

Anything you have to say would be adored, pored over, delighted in, cherished and quite simply worshipped!

Ki

Hanging On Part Thirteen

Kel was stunned for a moment.

And then she had neither time nor breath nor desire to be anything but caught in this beautiful, blazing moment.

She felt the Gift sweep through her in that tender, powerful wave, wrapping both of them in watery wings. She didn't know she had dropped the sword she was holding and had her arms around his neck. She didn't care that the air around them burned with an eerie, lovely cobalt fire. She only knew that this boy was kissing her with passion and affection and it was what she wanted.

And then he drew back and stared at her with eyes that glowed like sunlight through sapphires. His voice was huskier than usual as he breathed, "Mithros."

"I know," she whispered, dazed. 

Kissing Neal had been sweet, gentle. Kissing Ryan had been like...lightning and sunshine wrapped together.

"Mithros," he said again, not letting go of her. "That ain't...never happened afore."

"No," she said. Her mind didn't seem to be quite working properly. 

She kissed him.

And that gentle, Gifted lightning twined itself around them again. It was incredible. It felt like every single sense had been heightened, as though she hummed with energy that was completely unearthly; an energy that came from something strangely human. Everything seemed suddenly quite clear-cut.

He drew back, those eyes wide and swirling with emotions she couldn't quite identify. "I'm very glad you're holdin' onto me," he told her, "or I reckon I might just fall off this log an' straight on the ground."

Kel could hear her heart thundering in her ears, like horses' galloping hooves. "That was...interesting."

"Ye know this changes things?" he said softly, finally, running a finger down her cheek. "We ain't just friends now, Keladry o' Mindelan."

Things were already changed, thought Kel. To her surprise, she found thinking of Neal didn't seem to matter much at all now. She was realising that perhaps it hadn't really since she kissed him. Was it really *him* I wanted? she thought. Or was it just the *idea*? 

"No," she echoed. "We aren't."

He hesitated, those blue-beyond-blue eyes glowing with Gifted fires. "This what you want, Kel? Only...I didn't exactly give ye much choice."

"If I hadn't liked it, I'd have hurt you," she told him. "How can I put it...right in the base chakra."

"Oh my," he drawled. "Doin' your bit for natural selection, then."

His hair was startlingly tousled from where she had run her hands through it, soft to the touch as cat's fur, and that wonderfully firm mouth was slowly curving into a wicked smile. Every inch a streetrat, thought Kel, and liked it.

"Can I...ask you something?" she said enigmatically.

"Depends on what it is."

"Who gave you that scar that the alicorn healed?" she asked, her voice very tentative.

His face darkened briefly, shadows slipping into his eyes. "My da. He hated me...he never wanted me in the first place, an' after my ma ran out an' left him saddled wi' a useless runt, he loathed me. Used to beat me all the time, till I'd been screamin' so long I hadn't any voice left and my face hurt so bad I couldn't see or feel anythin' but the pain."

"But why?" said Kel, bemused. She couldn't understand how anyone could treat a child so.

He shrugged. "Said I looked like my ma. She left him all alone, an' I think p'raps he really did love her. One day, he just got tired of me, he'd been drinkin', like, an' he cut me wi' a knife. Kept hittin' me, I was so scared, an' I could run by then, so I just scarpered fast as I could, but he caught me, an' kept hittin' an' kickin' me." He paused, and Kel could feel him shaking. "You know what the worst part was?"

"It all sounds so awful," she whispered, looking at his face because she owed it to him to listen,not to look away and not to pretend that this dreadful thing hadn't happened.

"There was people there, Kel, an' they could see him kickin' seven kinds o' hell out of me, an' they did nothin'. I guess they was scared, but it hurt me. I was only a kid, an' I didn't know what to do. Eventually, he left me for dead in the gutter. Maybe the scar's gone now, but I can't forget." Those eyes had dimmed to their soft, shadowed grey again, and Kel could see leagues of pain in them, deeper than the darkest ocean. "I can't forget. I've tried so hard, an' even the Gift ain't any use."

She didn't have anything that could make what had happened to him better or at all justified, so she let her silence say what all the sympathy in the world would not; that he was here now, and that he was someone she was proud to know.

"That's enough o' that," he said, seeming to shake himself. "Ye don't need to hear my sob story. Tell me about yourself. All I know is what the rumours say, an' accordin' to them, ye should be eighteen feet high an' a sword-wieldin' maniac."

Kel snorted. "Rumour got it wrong. As always."

He grinned. "I guessed that."

"What do I say?" shrugged Kel. "I want to be a knight. Fighting isn't what I do, it's part of who I am. I love it – I love the challenge and the wit you need, I love the honour it demands. And maybe there are still people who don't like me, but maybe I don't like them much either."

"That tells me a lot about what ye do, like," said Ryan gently, "but it don't tell me much about who ye are."

Kel didn't know what to say. Talking about herself just seemed so horribly arrogant – it wasn't her. She would do what she had to, whether she enjoyed or whether she didn't, and either way, she wouldn't boast about it. It was how she was and that was that.

"Anyways," he murmured, "I'd best take my Gift back. I ain't been told what happens if I leave it in someone who ain't used to it." Then he flashed her a charming smile and said, "An' we'd best get some sleep. From what Master Salmalin said, tomorrow ain't goin' to be a dream journey."

She relaxed and closed her eyes, preparing herself for the loss of this colourful, flaring world. The wonder of having the Gift had never struck her before, but now she felt almost saddened by the loss. She thought he would use the crown chakra again; but instead, the streetboy kissed her throat gently, where the third chakra lay and she felt the warming light flood away.

When she opened her eyes again, the world was strangely dim and grey, a mist of swaying shadows and spiky shapes. She let him guide them back to the safety of the warded circle, her senses still adjusting to the obscurity of the ordinary world.

They stepped over the sleeping form of Bruna (Kel saw a curious shimmer on her face that Ryan informed her in a low voice was tearstains), proud even in sleep, but Kel still felt sorry for her. She was truly alone.

"Sweet dreams," yawned Ryan, slithering onto the ground and pulling his cloak over him. "Hope they're as sweet as you." She could make out the mischievous smile he gave her.

Kel considered throwing something then took it for the compliment it was. "Goddess bless," she told him.

She heard a half-laugh. "If only."

****

Andrea woke up slowly to the first faint strains of delicate dawn light weaving through the tiny skylight. Like a subtle, haunting tune, the light fell over her dusty golden hair, slid over her grimy face and onto the tiny form of the child who hugged close to her. Gliding over the filthy floor, it illuminated the weary, aristocratic features of Marcus of Kennan who slept lightly, ever wary. Andrea's head lay across his legs.

Someone was shaking her.

She sat up, blinking sleep-heavy eyes and saw the cold, elegant features of the red-robed mage close by. 

Andrea gasped and shrank back. She felt Marc stir, his hand reaching out instinctively to check Shari was there before his eyes opened, the deep smooth brown of them hazy and briefly confused.

"The Arachon wants you, girl," the mage said shortly. Andrea noticed a new set of red weals sweeping across the right side of her face, as if a ser of claws had hit her hard. "Up."

"Leave her alone," said Marc softly. "The Arachon can talk to me."

"Don't be stupid, Marcus," the woman said. Andrea blinked. They talked as if they knew each other. "The Arachon's tired of you. And you know what happens if it gets bored with something."

"Laird..." There was a plea in that voice. "Not her. She can't tell that monster anything it doesn't know. She's innocent."

"Weren't we all once?" snarled the woman bitterly. Her black, slanted eyes were unreadable. That glaring red robe was like a gash of blood against the dimness of the cell, clinging to a tall, willowy body. "I've not spent seven years covering up and protecting you so you can throw it away on the first pretty face that walks in."

Andrea looked from one stubborn, set face to the other and saw something that she hadn't before. The same haunted look in both eyes. And she realised that the mage was as much a victim as Marc was, as Shari was.

"Marc?" she said, her clear voice making him look over instantly. "What's going on?"

Marc sighed. "It's nothing, Andrea."

"It's something, Marcus of Kennan," she said firmly. "And you're going to tell me what."

The mage's empty black eyes turned to her. She must have been dazzling once. She was still beautiful, but time and pain had cut lines into her skin and the faint shimmer of scars lay across her face. "So you do have a spine. Well, you may not when the Arachon's done with you, girl."

"Marc?" persisted Andrea, ignoring the mage.

The boy looked at her, at her pleading eyes. "It wasn't entirely by accident the Arachon took me," he said slowly. "Or any of us. There's...something she wants from us—"

"Marcus," the mage cut in. "What business of hers is it?"

"She's here, isn't she?" snapped Marc. "Do you want her to end up like us?" He gestured to his legs. "I'll never walk. You'll have those scars for the rest of your life..."

"Scars?" murmured Andrea. Their grimness, their utter lack of hope terrified her. How could anyone have stayed here for years beyond count, unable to escape such a monster?

"Yes!" spat the mage. "Scars!" She pushed the red robe aside, and lifted up her tunic to show a stomach slashed with four deep red gouges. "I have these all over," she said, her voice shaking with anger and despair. "When the Arachon is angry, I'm what it sees first."

"Why can't you escape?" she asked, looking up at the unreadable oriental face. "You must be powerful, surely..."

She thought for a moment the mage wouldn't answer, the bitterness swelling in those fatal eyes like a stormy sea. Then the woman's gravely voice filled the air. "Not powerful enough. Do you know how immortals are made?"

"Dreams," said Andrea, remembering with pain her mother's silky-soft voice telling her that as Andrea lay shaking with fever one winter. Her hand smoothing Andrea's forehead, warm and tender. And the next winter, that hand lay cold and still, and Andrea was alone.

"Yes. Normally. But the Arachon wasn't." Startled, Andrea's golden eyes snapped up, liquid as honey, to see the red mage slam her fist into the wall angrily. "It was made by the gods. It has their power, their magic and we are nothing to it. Nothing at all."

"Have you even tried escaping?"

"Of course I've tried!" the mage shouted furiously. Her wrath turned on Andrea, potent as steam. "You think this is what I want? To be caged and beaten day after day? I wake up and I *envy* the dead, because at least they can have peace!" As suddenly her fury was gone, and she said tonelessly, "The Arachon wants to see you. Come on, girl."

"Laird..." began Marc quietly. 

The mage gripped Andrea by her arm and pulled her up with surprising strength. "No."

The boy tried to pull himself forward, but he couldn't drag his body fast enough as the mage hauled Andrea after her. "Laird!" he shouted. "Laird, don't, please!"

And the dead, chill voice made Andrea's bones turn to stone. "Be quiet, Marc. There will be enough screaming soon."

****

Neal and the Lioness were fencing when Daine came in. His green eyes were narrowed in concentration, sweat in a fine film across his face. The Lioness was moving *fast*, a red-haired blur. Swords flashed like fish under water, clashing and sweeping through the air. Neal was clearly losing, and as his knight-master flicked the sword from his hands, he grinned and yielded.

"That was good," the Lioness remarked approvingly. "You've improved, Neal."

"Not enough," he replied, picking up his sword and checking it for nicks. "You'd think I'd get tired of being humiliated." He gave her a wry grin. 

"It didn't look too bad to me," the soft voice of Daine Sarrasri interjected.

Both of them turned to see the Wildmage looking fresh and lovely in a formal wintery blue dress. Her hair was swept up, decorated with glittering blue gems. She looked like she had stepped from a fairytale.

"Not another Court gathering," groaned Alanna, resistant as ever to anything where she couldn't carry a weapon. "I suppose Jon sent you, the sadist."

Daine arched an eyebrow. "You know you love the Court really." She giggled, for a moment her age as the Lioness threw her a filthy look. "Jon said he wants his Champion present; he's got some important news. Oh, Neal, you have to be there too. Your friend Phillippa ha Minch told me totell you..." She frowned, briefly confused. "She choked the grapevine?"

Neal wondered what Pip had cooked up. "Of course, Daine," he said. "Did she say anything else?"

"Watch out for fireworks." Daine's blue-grey eyes met his and she shrugged. "The King didn't say anything to me about fireworks tonight. Maybe it's a secret. You know what the nobles are like."

"Hey!" he and the Lioness said in unison.

The Wildmage shrugged. A cat wandered in and taking one look at her, leapt up. Startled, Daine caught it and the tabby purred contentedly. "You're not noble. Not really. You work too hard."

"I don't know if that's a compliment or not," growled Alanna, but she was smiling. "All right, Squire, present yourself at Court tonight and in the meantime, you can go and quiz Jon's squire about what's going on. Then you can have the rest of the afternoon off."

"Mind if I accompany you?" said Daine. She swept up her skirts as daintily as any court lady and Neal was amused to see she had good sturdy boots on underneath. "Aren't you going to offer me your arm, Neal? Honestly, for someone with such pure blood, you're amazingly unchivalrous sometimes."

He obeyed, and they strolled around the palace, looking for Zahir abn Nazir, the King's squire.

"So tell me about Phillippa," commanded Daine suddenly. The question was a lightning bolt; he hadn't been expecting it at all. "I've heard a lot about her, Neal, and knowing the Court, none of it's true."

"She's just a girl," Neal said and then thought about it. "No. She's not *just* a girl. She's...different."

"Neal, you're being about as clear as mud," the Wildmage told him exasperatedly. The cat, now half-slumped over her shoulder and cradled in her free arm, mewed in agreement. 

He grinned at his friend. He had gotten over his crush on her (and it even embarrassed him now to think of it) and found out that being friends with her was far more rewarding. Even if Numair Salmalin was *still* too old for her.

"I don't know...she's not like the other noblewomen, all giggly and fluttery, but she's not as rebellious as the Lioness either." Neal thought about it. "She's a noblewoman and intelligent. I didn't know that was possible."

"Don't let the Queen hear you say that," warned Daine. "Is that Zahir?"

Squinting against the bright winter sun, Neal could make out the tall, dark figure doing hand-to-hand combat with the Shang Horse. And holding his own. They ambled over, waiting by the fence of the practice square until Zahir finally went flying. "I yield," the Bazhir said reluctantly.

"Not bad," the Shang Horse said, giving the squire a hand up. Almost exactly what the Lioness had said to Neal. "I think you cracked my rib." He grinned showing white teeth. "Ah, Neal! Feel like a bout?"

"No."

"Good, neither do I." The Shang Horse was as merry as ever, his black hair messy and dusty from the fight. "Feel like doing some healing?"

"Sure." The Shang Horse did have a cracked rib and Neal set to work repairing the bone, green fire sparking from his fingertips. "Zahir, you know what's going on at Court tonight?"

Zahir shrugged, handsome face expressionless. "Not a clue. Why do you want to know, Queenscove?"

"The Lioness wants to know. You haven't heard anything?"

The Bazhir boy was spinning a knife in his hands. He was lethal with any kind of blade, almost as good as the Shangs themselves. "Something to do with Carthak, I think. But apart from that, no. He wanted as many of the knights and mages back as possible." His tone wasn't friendly, but it wasn't hostile either. Zahir didn't seem to care for anyone or anything.

"Not all of them are," murmured Daine. Other animals had come to twine around her feet as she perched on the fence, uncaring of the damage she was doing to her dress. Neal supposed she would get Kitten, her dragon ward, to clean it up. "Numair's out. So's Keladry of Mindelan. Sir Payton and Joren of Stone Mountain are up in the northern villages. There've been rumours of attacks on the Gifted. I think Inness of Mindelan and his squire are there too. And the Fifth Riders are over at Port Legann."

"Still, if he wants everyone back at Court..." mused Neal. "That means this is serious."

"It always is round here." The Wildmage hopped off the fence. "You get used to your life hanging by a thread."

"Like that hem," pointed out Neal, as the girl looked down and realised she had ripped half the skirt on a nail.

"Mithros curse it!" She ripped the rest off to reveal that she was still wearing a tunic and breeches underneath. The Shang Horse and Neal burst out laughing – Zahir smouldered, clearly disapproving.

"You don't change, do you?" said Neal.

"We have a saying in the Yamani Isles," Hakuin informed them. His dark eyes were bright with laughter. "You can clothe a lamb in silk, but it will still taste the same."

"I hope you aren't planning to cook me!" Daine pulled a face. "I've had that happen too often."

"Well, if you will go around as a deer..." muttered Neal, who had been responsible for hitting her with a slingshot during a university hunt some years back. "You're asking for trouble."

She glared at him. "And you are begging for it."

"I don't beg!" Neal said in mock-lofty tones. "I'm a noble."

"True," she agreed meekly. "Nobles don't beg. They steal." She laughed as Neal mouthed furiously, unable to think of a reply. "Come on, Neal. I have to go and change and you have to get ready for this mysterious soiree!"

****

"Your name."

Hot, scaly breath wafted over Andrea like misted poison and she thought she might collapse from the sheer fear. She lay quivering against the wall, her broken arm screaming in pain. Pure terror kept her looking into the grotesque reptilian face with its pink scaly skin and three purple eyes. 

"Andrea Kirisra," she answered in a tiny voice. 

She had refused to answer the first time it had asked, and it had backhanded her with one immensely powerful limb.

"Tell me about the boy."

For a moment, she was caught off guard,. The boy was her secret; her secret rescuer who was joined to her somehow, who sought her even now and whose magic combined with hers to make a deadly, dazzling force.

"I..."

Steel slid into its voice. "Tell me about the boy."

"I don't know," she whispered. "He's just a boy. I don't even know his name."

"Tell me how you reach the boy. How you make this joining of your Gifts."

"I don't know," she said again. "He just...turns up. When I'm in trouble or hurt or—"

Its claws crushed onto her legs. She was so shocked by the pain that exploded in her, filling her like boiling water, that she couldn't even scream. She even couldn't remember her own name. Her hands scrabbled at it, unaware of how the tiny sharp scales lacerated her hands, how the tendons stood out on her body as she fought against the pain. 

No, she would not scream, she would not give them the satisfaction, but oh the pain, she wouldn't, she wouldn'tthepainshewouldn't…

She felt something inside her flex, like a bird unfurling its wings, as the pain roared up her body, taking her over. 

Flex. She could feel it, rising against the pain like a rush of cool amber wings, soaring and taking her with it. She felt herself leave her body briefly, leave that pain and reach out across time and space to the one soul she hunted... 

She heard his voice, at first thick and foggy, dulled by the distance between them. And as her spirit-body flew across the land winking by in a roll of dark green and brown, it became clearer...

He was in trouble.

He was dying.

****

Thoughts? Comments? Opinions? I'd *love* to hear what you think!

Okay, let me just stand up 'cause I was totally floored by all the comments. I think the only things I can say are WOW and THANK-YOU! You're all absolute angels! Thanks to:

The astounding Ariana: Kawai? What a great word! And it describes you too :-) I'm quite a big Kel-Neal 'shipper too, but what the story wants, the story does. Whether I like it or not! Thank you :-)

The cracking cool: I think that said it all! And I obey :-) Thanks so much!

The divine Daine: I haven't had any visits from Emmaline (but she is free to drop in!). I suppose it could turn out like the wild magic, but I think Ryan has more control than that...I hope he does! There is no good reason for school :-) Except the vending machines and their vast stocks of chocolate...thanks!

The delectable Dead Flower: Thanks :-) Well, you may be right on the relationship front – you may not...you get to see more of the Arachon soon! Thank you so much!

The fantastic FireLily: I truly have no idea how the relationships are going to work! But well...let's see how it goes. I made the same mistake with Salmalin for *years*. Then one day I actually noticed...it's very weird how you can read something and yet not see it! Thank you :-) Oh, you remember that time I forgot you? The Xing review thing arrived in my mailbox today! Finally!

The glorious Gabs: Hiya! I'm elated that you like the story! No, I haven't written any novels (oh, I wish!). Maybe one day...one far distant day...

The heavenly Harkly: Thank you :-) That part just wrote itself really (I love when that happens. I can switch my so-called brain off for a while.) Bruna's fahjer…watch out on that front. Merci beaucoup!

The jaunty Jaelawyn: I'm sorry I haven't emailed you yet – I've been revising for my mock exams (ick!) The parts will be heading your way very soon – of course you can post it on your site, I'm so honoured!

The jocose Jinx: You lucky hagen daaz blessed person! Enjoy it! I have to create my own characters, otherwise I feel really guilty about using TP's...I mean...she took all that time to create them, and here swan in I to use them for my won devious needs...thanks!

The kick-ass Kali: I have the ominous feeling this will end up as more than one story. I have this problem where I have complete lack of ability to *stop* writing…so Andrea and Ryan…well, I don't know. I'm really not sure at all! 

The kosher Kierce: Short and sweet! Thank you so much!

The kalos Kira: I love plot twists :-) They're so much fun! Thank you!

The luminous Lady Silvermoon: Wow! Short, simple and fabulous ~ thank you so much!

The lovely Lily Potter: Kel **doesn't** have the gift, but she's just experienced how it feels to have it. Does that make sense? I'm thrilled you're enjoying the story – thank you so much!

The magnificent Mage Melery: Poor Cleon! Flushed down the toilet? Oh dear! Thanks :-) Like I say, that part did write itself. And I have a penchant for dark, buried secrets :-) hence the halflings! ::goes scarlet:: Truly, I'm not that good! Thank you though!

The matchless Maple: Uh...Ryan seems to have other ideas. :-) And so does Kel! Thank you both for all your compliments! It made my day! I'm sure there are men like that in real life. I'm also sure they're all married, locked up or gay (no, I'm kidding, please don't sue me!). Thanks for the vibes! I did have a happy week!

The miraculous Mel: Thank you :-) If it makes people happy, I am happy! So I am one hell of a sunny bunny today! I'm writing as much as I can when I can...

The merry Merc the Mage: Ack, I don't want to be the cause of heart attacks in anyone :-) But thank you for reviewing ~ I try to get the parts out once a week...I don't think I could stop posting if I wanted to!

The marvellous Midnight Angel: Thank you :-) I'm so happy that you like it ~ I hope you enjoy the rest too!

The magical Molly-Ann: My half-term is in two weeks, so I will write loads then and send it to you to beta for me! Thank you ~ you're an angel.

The 'nspiring Noel: The look to your blood thing…argh...I wish I could explain but I can't 'cause it'll ruin the story! Pip is going to get a very, very wholesome revenge on that qubota Vinson! It's partly why Bruna's so evil...there's other stuff too. Thank you so so much for that heowge review! 

The priceless Perfect1: I confess! You spotted the huge, huge hole in the story that I didn't even realise existed! Thanks! I'll go back and correct that at some point...thank you for telling me! Sometimes I'm incredibly dumb.

The quirky Queen of Sheba: I hear and obey, O royal one! Relationships are my favourite parts of stories – what can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic :-) And proud of it – thanks!

The quixotic Quartz: I could argue with you about the evilness of various people, but I'd be here forever so I won't :-) Authors? Crazy? Surely not? I was so positive we were all a bunch of well-balanced beautiful sane human beings. Nicotine in Wild Magic? Well, that would explain why no one seems to smoke in Tortall...

The splendid Saphron: Thank you! I don't know that it's as good as Tammy's (I don't think *anything* could be!) but thank you for such a phenomenal compliment!

The sensational Scarlette Faerie: I thought they were kind of a cute couple too...I have no idea if they'll alst or not though! (This shows you just how much control I have over the characters). Thank you! I'm delighted that you like it!

The singular Shannon Cooper: Don't apologise for not reviewing! It's my privilege if you do! (Believe me, if I started demanding reviews, you would be perfectly within your rights to shoot me.) I'm so happy you like the story! Gracias!

The superlative Silver Moon Tigress: I aim to make it interesting :-) That way you don't get bored (hopefully!) and neither do I!

The sparkling Slim C: Thanks for reviewing! Daine will appear as and when she wants to :-) Thanks!

The superb Sparrow: I don't know how long it'll be. As long as it needs to, I guess :-) Sorry, that's not much help! Love interests are breaking out all over the place! It's like a disease! Thank you so much!

The sunny Steph: Thank you! I truly don't know about the relationships...relationships that pass in the night and all...it depends how long the story is, what happens...

The terrific Team Socket: How can I refuse anyone who makes puppy eyes? Thank you!

The tremendous Tyr: Nah, you're not slow – Marcus *is* related to Cleon (which does come into this story) Glad you like Ryan/Kel :-) They're interesting to write! Ta!

The wicked Wazzup Girl: Thanks! I know all about cats – I have two rabid beasties who pretend to be them occasionally...I'm taking it you're happy about Kel and Ryan? :-)

The outstanding :o): Well, there's definitely a reason why they say revenge is sweet! (And a dish best served cold.)It'll be…fun...Pip's smart enough to make life very difficult for Vinson. Marc...well, everything has a flip side :-) Thank you!


	14. Courtiers and Catastrophes

Okay, I am truly, truly sorry this is so late :-) Because it is so late, it's pretty long! So thank you everyone who has the patience to wait – you're absolute angels, thank you *so* much – and to all ye fabulous people who reviewed last time :-) Proper thanks are at the bottom, but may it rain chocolate on you all!

Anything you have to say would be adored, pored over, delighted in, worshipped and, quite simply, cherished. I'd love to hear what you think; what you'd like to see, what you wouldn't, mistakes, criticisms, comments :-)

Enjoy! Ki

Hanging On Part Fourteen

"Hurry up, Pip," muttered Neal to himself, straightening his tunic one final time and adjusting the crafted dagger at his side. "Haven't got all evening."

He was dressed in soft forest green and tawny brown that set off his blazing eyes. Neal shifted anxiously from foot to foot. The thought of facing the court had him more unnerved than if a troop of spidrens had crashed through the window.

He gave the footman ready to announce the nobles a nervous grin. The man stared impassively back, standing perfectly straight in his powdered wig. As a couple swept past, the lady resplendent in a gold silk dress, he flung open the doors and shouted their names through the door. Neal felt the noise of the court roll over him briefly before the doors were slammed shut. 

He heard a frantic clattering of heels behind him and a squawk from an indignant courtier waiting to enter as Pip rushed in, her face becomingly flushed from what was obviously a mad dash.

"Oh Neal!" she gasped, "I am *so* sorry, I was just practising knife throwing—" (Neal quickly made a vow not to let her *touch* his blade.) "—and I just *completely* forgot."

"Hardly surprising, dear," commented a court lady in crimson, looking down her nose at Pip. "From what we hear..." Her male companion was giving Pip a look Neal didn't like at all, while the lady, with her piled up mass of red hair, sneered elegantly, "...knives aren't the only *weapon* you've been handling."

"Lady Rhiannon, isn't it?" Neal said smoothly, keeping his anger under control. "And Lord Gregory." The lady's disdainful stare swung to pin him. "How *is* your husband? Oh, how foolish of me to forget, he ran off with that scullery maid last summer, didn't he? *What* a scandal that was...the court didn't stop gossiping about you for *weeks* and Mithros bright, I could tell you some rumours about you that would make you hair stand on end...oh I *am* sorry, that's a wig ,isn't it?"

Her companion gave her a horrified look and dropped his hand from the lady's arm.

"Well!" said Lady Rhiannon, her cheeks mottled with red. "Well, really!" She stormed off through the doors.

Pip was hysterical with delight. "Oh thank you, Neal!" she said gleefully. "I didn't know you had such venom in you!"

Neal grinned. Then for the first time, he looked at her. And his jaw fell open.

Pip had left her hair down in a tumble of shiny brown curls that framed her delicate face. Unlike the fashion, she had used no make-up at all, and had a healthy tan that made her skin glow golden. Her dress was a sleekly-cut deep green that fell mid-way down her calves, slit along one side to the knee, and instead of the elaborate laced-up boots of dragonhide and wolfskin that style demanded, she had on a pair of high-heeled sandals that brought her an inch or two above Neal.

"My dear," he said, when he had recovered his voice. "You're quite something."

She grinned. "You don't look too bad yourself."

"And you're looking positively smug," he said, seeing the wicked glitter in her sea-green eyes. The footman, he noticed from the corner of his eye, was watching them with interest.

"Vinson of Genlith had better watch out," she declared, flicking her hair back. "I'm about to have the last laugh."

Neal offered his arm, and she took it daintily, watching the other fussing, flapping peacocks of noblewomen that minced past, clinging to their escorts. Pip held herself away from him, walking in firm strides.

"Ready?" said Neal under his breath.

"Into the fire," she replied, and they both fixed smiles on their faces as the footman opened the doors and bellowed,

"Squire Nealan of Queenscove, protégé of the King's Champion, and Lady Phillippa ha Minch, cousin to the King!"

Neal nearly stopped still in shock.

****

"Look at that!" said Ryan as they rode along the path, Master Salmalin and Bruna a little way behind. Kel followed his stare to see a glowing crimson sun, hovering on the horizon like a mad red eye. Night was sweeping above in shades of blue and grey, soft as the whisper of silk.

"Red sky at night, shepherd's delight," Kel quoted, grinning at him. Neither of them had said a word about the night before, but every time he looked at her, they would share an amused, secret smile. She liked seeing the warmth in his eyes. 

"Red sky in the mornin', shepherd's house burnin'," he finished. 

"We're approaching a village, children," Numair Salmalin spoke up. Kel stopped her horse and turned to look at him. His dark eyes were solemn. "Take care to act normally. Make no mention of the Gift."

"Ain't they goin' to recognise you?" Ryan's dove-grey eyes were fixed sharply on the mage. "Reckon you're pretty well known after t'Immortals War."

The mage glanced up and down the road, then waved his hand in front of his face. The glow of his silver-shot black magic glittered brightly for an instant, and as he drew his hand over his face, Kel was astonished to see his features change. The dark eyes became a clear hazel, the swarthy skin becoming pale and his hair shortening. He looked like a young knight.

"I'm sure this will do," the mage said and gave them a boyish grin. "Lady Bruna, keep your face hidden. These are your father's lands, are they not?"

The girl nodded silently and drew the hood of her cloak over her fine-boned face. "His cursed lands," she said in a low voice. Kel had to wonder why she hated her father so much.

The mage took a deep breath. "Let's go. Lady Keladry, you are my squire for the day. I doubt news of your appointment to Raoul will have reached this far into the land. Be careful. This is a dangerous place."

And as they rode towards the smoky shadows of he village, it seemed to Kel that the night began to close in around them with its claws waiting to fall.

****

"Cousin to the King?" hissed Neal under his breath as he and Pip stepped down the stairs. He could hear the hubbub rising in the Court and, staring down at them, he felt as though he had stepped into a field of peacocks, dressed in all the gaudy colours of the rainbow. Jewellery flashed at him from every direction, curious faces watching them.

"We don't advertise the fact," muttered Pip. Her grip on his arm was painful and it was only then he realised how nervous she was. 

They stopped a few feet from the throne, Neal bowed and felt Pip dip into a graceful curtsey.

"The Lioness is late, Squire Nealan," the King remarked, his sapphire eyes twinkling. "What's her excuse this time?"

"She's washing her hair, sire," Neal said promptly. 

The King snorted. "Of course she is, Squire Nealan. Sir Alanna always gets an urge to wash her hair extremely thoroughly when I summon her to a Court gathering. And it's amazing how she looks exactly the same as normal when she does finally turn up."

"Will of the gods, sire," said Neal.

"Of course. It is nothing at all to do with the fact she detests the Court," King Jonathan sighed. "A shame, when she livens it up so. As do you, Cousin."

"We haven't seem you much lately," Queen Thayet said, leaning forward on her throne. She smiled kindly at Pip. "I haven't been in the defence classes recently – the Riders are taking up much of my time at the moment – but Buri tells me you have been absent of late."

"I've been busy, highness," Pip said.

"Hmmm." The Queen pursed her lips. "Well, Phillippa, I really do think it's a good idea if you go. The realm is dangerous nowadays."

"Not as dangerous as me, highness," Pip said and grinned wickedly. Neal knew she was thinking about Vinson and wondered just what sort of nasty revenge she had planned.

The Queen raised an eyebrow. "Arrogance is not a virtue, Phillippa. And my Court tells me you have been displaying rather a lot of it."

Pip's smile vanished instantly. "The Court has a tendency to invent its entertainment."

"I know, young lady," Thayet said sternly. "I do not believe a word of what I have been told. However, there are others who are only too happy to. I am sure your friendship with Squire Nealan is just that, as the Lioness has assured me, but take care." She sat back, effectively dismissing them.

"Oh look," Pip said softly, vengefully as they walked into the crowds. "There's Vinson."

Sure enough, the thin, skeletal youth was ringed by women and Neal could just pick out his sneering tones, throwing those vultures some scrap of gossip he had made up, no doubt. 

Beside him, Pip stopped, and gave him a catlike, secret smile. "Back in a moment, Neal," she said sweetly. "There's Uline. I must just go and say hello."

"And if I come with you, it'll spoil the effect?" said Neal, puzzled.

"Bear with me," she said. "Why don't you go and dance with Tanisa?" Neal looked over and found the vapid smile of the blond girl in the unbelievably tight purple dress fixed on him.

"Goddess," he muttered, "How can she breathe in that dress?"

"She doesn't, dear," drawled Pip. Her green eyes glinted at him mischievously. "Why on earth do you she's so vacant?" She paused. "Oh, look, she's coming over. You have fun chatting, now." She flitted away like a sylph in that ivy-green dress, and Neal steeled himself for the painful company of Tanisa.

****

The horses' hooves sounded dull and heavy on the air. Kel couldn't stop her eyes from flicking around. This wasn't right. The people lined the streets, rows and rows of utterly silent black figures standing with arms crossed and weapons tapping meaningfully, faces set and curiously blank. 

"Halt."

The word was soft, quiet, yet it fell on the dead air like a blast of blazebalm. A noble's voice, Kel realised, shocked.

She pulled her horse up short, feeling Peachblossom shift and whinny to tell her that he didn't like this either, and subtly pulled her weapons closer to hand.

The man who had stepped into the road was dressed in black. His face was masked, so only the icy rabid black of his eyes lanced them. Looking into them was like falling into pits where strange creatures lay fingering old bones. Kel swore she could hear their snuffling, their grating breath in her ears before she shook herself.

"Good day," Numair said mildly, his magically changed face reflecting only polite courtesy. "How may we help?"

The man moved towards them in an odd, slinky walk. It was as if a serpent had been given legs, and it sent chills wriggling down Kel's back as around them, the village took a step forward in unison. Kel felt Peachblossom shift backwards and cold fear begin to spread through her like a blossoming winter flower.

"Name yourselves."

"I am Sir Raimun of Corus," Numair said mildly. "This is my squire, Keladry of Mindelan. We are accompanying this lady and her servant to their home." Ryan looked mortally insulted at being called Bruna's servant, but he kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

Let it work, Kel prayed, keeping her face Yamani-smooth though her heart beat like a drum gone mad. 

Silence, beat after thundering beat of her heart as the four of them stood there, frozen in the evening gloom with these sinister figures swaying all around with their blank faces, their impassive stares. Kel could see no humanity in them; even the smallest children stood still as statues with their faces clean and emotionless.

"You *lie*," hissed the figure. "You lie, Gifted scum."

"Uh-oh," she heard Ryan mutter softly. "Don't sound like they're ready to whip out the welcomin' banners."

"We feel your taint," that black figure said coldly, solemnly. "And we will cleanse you from it."

"We have no Gift," Numair Salmalin said calmly. Kel was astonished at how calm he sounded and looked. "I am but a knight, my squire but a girl. Would that we did; it would make riding the dark nights easier."

"I see the deceit in your eyes," the man said flatly. His gaze swept over them, and Kel felt her blood run cold. This was not a man she stared at, it was a monster. What was it the alicorn had said?

~ Even the gods have been forsaken. Those mortals worship something else now, something evil and rotting. ~

"Leave us be," said Ryan sharply. "We ain't Gifted. We're just travellers."

The man laughed; a high, grating sound, it raked at the air like talons. "Why do you let them lie, daughter?"

For a moment, Kel didn't know who they were addressing, then slowly, oh so slowly, she followed the man's inhuman stare, turning to look at the girl whose face was white as candle wax, her eyes two terrified holes within her head.

Bruna of Farbrook had no words to answer her father.

****

"Pippa!" Uline cried, throwing her arms around Pip in a typical display of extravagance. She was so lovely, Pip thought, but couldn't be envious of Uline in her electric blue dress with the loose gauze robe thrown across it, as ran the fashion, and the gems sparkling bright at her throat and ears. 

It was impossible to dislike her; she was always so sweet to Pip, treating her like the sister she would soon be and defending her from the sly jibes of other nobles. Now, she handed Pip a glass full of golden–white wine and bade her tell them all the news.

"Hello, 'Lina," Pip said, smiling. "Kieran, you look so...like you belong in the menagerie."

Her older brother, with his solemn hazel eyes and extra years, scowled at her. "It's the fashion, Pip."

"And if the fashion were sackcloth and ashes, Kiery, would you wear that too?" she demanded archly.

"Don't call me that childish name." He smouldered at her. Pip knew exactly how to annoy Kieran, and took great pleasure in it. "There's no crime in looking good."

"Yes, but you look atrocious." The latest fashion of gaudy colours and glinting jewellery was most certainly not her staid brother. "Uline, are you really going to marry this fool?"

Uline smiled up at Kieran, whose face softened fractionally. "If I didn't marry a fool, Pippa, I wouldn't marry at all."

"And from what we've been hearing round the Court," Kieran said harshly, "You won't marry at all, Pip. What on earth are you thinking, fooling around with the Lioness's squire?"

Pip glared at him. "You *are* a fool, brother. Neal is my friend and those rumours were spread by another squire. That noxious little Vinson of Genlith. Honestly, I'd pay to have him turned into a toad if he weren't already one."

"Why would he do that?" Kieran said scornfully. "He's nothing to do with us, Pippa. And his family are rich merchants."

"Oh," said Pip softly, "but, my naïve brother, Vinson has a secret of his own that he would like to keep *very* much concealed."

"Do tell!" Uline said, her face flushed with excitement. "I always *knew* there something sinister about that little beast. You know, he once crooned the most *obscene* thing at me when I was walking past—"

"*Did* he, by the gods!" Kieran said angrily. For all her brother's gravity, Pip knew he loved Uline with a passion that he would never show in public. And strange as it was, flirtatious, sunny Uline seemed to love him too. "And I'll bet it's that odious little wretch that's been spreading such filth about Ian!" The rumours about the ha Minch's dead brother had stung them cruelly. Pip knew Kieran had revered Ian, and now his eyes glowed with the heated wrath of a tiger. "I'll—"

"You will do nothing, Kiery," cut in Pip coolly. She knew what dreadful etiquette it was to silence an older sibling, but her family had become used to her outspokenness.

"What are you planning, Pippa?" said Uline, in her soft, well-bred voice. 

Pip ran her finger idly around the rim of her wineglass and tapped it, hearing the clear chime. "Plan? Oh, Uline, you make me sound so devious."

"Out with it, you scheming witch," Kieran said sharply. He knew her too well, Pip thought.

"I'm planning nothing," she insisted, "but Kiery, wouldn't it be unfortunate if some words...say, about Vinson's...unfortunate secret, happened to simply *slip* from my mouth, like his syphilis—" She clapped a hand over her mouth "Oops! Oh, how *could* I?"

Uline put her hands to her heart. "He has *syphilis!*"

Pip smiled sweetly. "Say it loud enough, 'Lina, and someone important will hear...and before that lying fool knows it, it will be true."

Kieran's eyes glinted with mischief. However ruthlessly he suppressed it, her brother had a streak of the family wildness in him too, and learning that Vinson had insulted his beloved, not to mention his brother, was enough to rouse it. "And how did he come by this...regrettable disease?"

"Oh, I really couldn't say," Pip drawled, taking a sip from her wineglass. "But young squire are wont to, shall we say, explore...and if one *will* consort with tavern whores—oh, I've said too much again! It *must* be the wine."

"It must be," Kieran agreed darkly, eyeing her glass. "Why don't you drink some more, my devious little sister, and let us see what else falls from that cunning mind of yours."

Green eyes and hazel met, and the two siblings shared a satisfied smile. He may be dull, Pip thought, but you can always count on your family. 

"And is it not strange," murmured Pip, sipping at the wine. It really *was* a good vintage, strong and not too dry. "That a tavern whore of that very area was found beaten and battered not so long ago? The whisper of the streets grows loud enough for us to hear...and it tells me that whore lost a bastard child, the beating was so severe."

"Oh Pippa," Uline said, somewhere between shocked and delighted, "now I know why Kieran says you are the black sheep of the family!"

"I'm beginning to think she is a wolf in sheep's clothing," Kieran said respectfully. "You've certainly grown some sharp teeth, Phillippa. Is any of this true?" He said the last in a very low voice, so the nobles pretending not to eavesdrop would not hear.

"No," Pip whispered, "but he has smeared our reputation with mud, so we will smear his with dung."

"Oh look!" said Uline, unable to hide her luminous smile. "There is my sister, and Jyar." Jyar of Fief Greenwood was Uline's closest friend. "I think I'll go and talk to them..."

Kieran grinned. "And I recognise Michael and David. They were pages when I was...I think I'll go and see how they've fared."

Pip sighed contentedly. "Better, I suspect, than Vinson of Genlith." She raised her voice a little. "Such an honourable family...they will be devastated to hear he has been dabbling with commoners."

Over the other side of the room, Vinson was sneering at her, completely unaware of the whispers that began to flourish all around him as Uline and Kieran's friends, looking hocked and fascinated, slid over to other groups...who moved to speak with other little huddles of flashy, chattering courtiers...the words slid from ear to ear like wildfire, and soon the Court was aflame with the news.

Pip went to rescue Neal from the clutches of Tanisa, seeing the slightly pained look on his face. Having pried the girl away, murmuring that her friends seemed to want to talk to her about something rather scandalous, she smiled at her noble friend. 

"You look very satisfied, my dear," commented Neal. "Like the cat that got the cream."

"This cat," she said, smiling as the players struck up a waltz, "just used her claws. That's one mouse who will never threaten me or my family again."

"Hear hear," Neal said brightly, his emerald eyes glowing at her. He really was striking, Pip thought. Not handsome, but then who needed handsome when you had a wit and charm like his?

"Oh no," she said coyly, accepting his hand as they stepped onto the dancefloor. "Hear*say*."

****

"That's your father?" hissed Ryan, his eyes huge and wide. "He's the one whose been killin' the Gifted an' drivin' away the magic?"

Bruna didn't answer. Her lips were pressed together and Kel could see her hands trembling on the rein.

"Tell me truly, daughter," that snaky smooth voice said. Kel thought it was the most terrible, merciless sound she had ever heard. "Who do you travel with?"

Bruna stayed silent, her beautiful face tight and strained. 

"Tell me!" The iron-hard voice cracked into the air like a whip. "The fire is waiting, foul tainted child, and I am prepared to wait the time it will take for the brands to heat."

Brands? Kel stared at the hard black eyes, at this lord's, this fiend's ruthless face. Brands were for cattle and goods, not children. And in those eyes, she saw the insanity, grown old and hard like ice. He cares nothing for her, she understood. She is his daughter, but he doesn't feel anything for her.

Dear Goddess, what had he done to her? She dared not think, for she feared the answer would be too dreadful to contemplate.

Bruna's shaken voice was bereft of its arrogance, of its richness, a thin grey ghost. "There are three Gifted."

"You have no Gift!" he said in that flat and dead voice. "Ugly changeling, you are not Gifted. You are Cursed. I have worked so hard to free you from your curse, but still the evil stays inside you, eating away at you. Your soul has decayed. I see it, I see it and there is only one thing for you now."

His black eyes seemed to widen and swell until they dominated that masked face, two pools of slick black oil.

"Only death will cleanse you now," he hissed, and to those silent, waiting villagers with their crude weapons and voided faces, he said, "Cleanse them. Destroy their evil!"

And they attacked, screaming. 

But they were saying no words. They only howled, like beasts driven mad, that eerie ululating sound echoing in the air until it filled Kel's ears and drove into her brain.

Numair shouted something, words that rent the air in two with a terrible thundering boom and a blinding light exploded into the air. The howls of the village people became frightened, but still they attacked. Kel leapt from Peachblossom, knowing it was safer and saw Ryan and the mage dismounting too.

Bruna, she saw with horror, put up no resistance as she was dragged from her horse. Gods, was she mad?

Spells zinged through the air, in flashes of silver-black and turquoise lightning, knocking people out as Kel parried and blocked the rakes and feeble weapons of the people. She was trying not to hurt them, but even the children clawed at her, hissed and spat curses that would have shocked even gutter-children. 

"Kel!" Ryan was street-fighting and magicking his way through the crowd, giving as good as he got and usually better. "You okay?"

"Fine!" she shouted, stumbling slightly as a fist connected hard with her shoulder. "Need a weapon?"

"Need a damn miracle!" he said and was beside her, flashing her that bold smile, despite the cuts bleeding all over his face and arms. He snapped a word and a blast of wind threw the people back, briefly leaving a clear circle around him and Kel. "I ain't ever seen anythin' like this. Weapon, lass?"

"On my back," said Kel hurriedly, catching her breath. "Axe."

"Cheers." They stood back to back, weapons poised. "Ridin' with you is an adventure, I'll say that."

"It's your fault we're in this mess!" she said indignantly. The horde weren't attacking...they were just standing there, as if waiting for something. "Ryan...any idea what's going on?"

"None, an' I don't like it," he said grimly. "Master Numair's shapeshifted, he's gone to see if there's any help an' if not, he comin' back...he said somethin' about Old Thak? Sounded pretty mad."

Then they saw the black-clad man stepping through the crowd, who parted like curtains drawing back. He stood for a moment, his frenzied eyes glittering at them, then he saw Ryan properly.

"You!" he snarled. "Monster! You freed another of your foul kind!"

Ryan stared. "You're the one who hurt Andrea! An' I'd a' freed anyone *you* caught. Am I the one with the serious sanity complex? I don't think so. *I* ain't killin' anythin' I don't understand." 

The man stared, then he tilted his head back to the sky, shaggy dark hair tumbling back like a wolf's pelt. And he *howled*.

And when they charged, he was at their head, all of them baying crazily. 

Kel braced herself, felt Ryan do the same. But nothing could have prepared her for what happened next. Their bodies seemed to ripple like something moving underwater, undulating and bending unnaturally. And she saw the man's face *change*, the teeth lengthening to fangs, his eyes turning the eerie, reflective green of a cat's.

The halflings, she thought suddenly, desperately. Oh gods above, it's happening again.

And when the pack of wild beast-men hit, they were completely helpless. Kel felt claws scrape along her chest as she was hurled to the ground; she saw Ryan fall back, his throat a crimson mess, and knew he was dead. Desperately she fought, trying not to think about it, fighting for her very life against this terrible magic...*that* was why they killed the alicorn, that was why they killed the Gifted. For their power, no, no, no...

The world exploded in a rolling surge of silver fire and—

That voice she loathed so, that terrible gloating voice filled the silence. She could only wait for its judgement...

****

Thoughts? Comments? Opinions? I'd love to hear what you think!

Galactic, starry thanks to the lovely people who reviewed the last part You made a really utterly depressing week much, much better :-) This is going to sound really cheeky...sorry...but the Xing-y thing which sends me reviews (bless its ickle electronic cotton socks) doesn't recognise signed reviews at the moment, so I have no idea whose review is whose. You couldn't do me a *huge* favour, could you, and write who you are? I truly appreciated you taking time out to share what you thought. You made my exams bearable! Merci beaucoup et les baisses a:

The almighty Ariana: ::grins:: You don't have to be first: that you've reviewed at all makes you special! Red, white and blue? I'm the French flag? (How appropriate!)Encantador? What a fabulous word! My word is celeste; heavenly; as that be what you are! 

The astounding Arwen: Thanks! Uh...I don't know about soon but uh...I'm on holiday now, so hopefully I'll be able to get the next part or two out on time :-) Thanks for being patient!

The cracking Cali Gurlie: I don't know, I'm wavering about Kel and Neal (in the books, this is.) Sometimes I think yes, and sometimes I think no. :;sigh:: Oh, I can't wait for Squire, and it's a whole three *months* before it's even published, and probably another six before I get hold of it...okay, I'm whining. I'm shutting up. Thank you!

The chirpy Chip: Thanks! ;:grins:: I'm thrileld you're liking the story (even if it does take me so frickin long to get the parts out!) And I hope you enjoy the rest of it ::beams:: Marc and Bruna...evil! You really are!

The delightful Dead Flower: ::grins:: Confusing? Well, yeah...sorry, that's what pours out of my overloaded little mind, little being the operative word. Bruna, well...it gets worse before it gets better. She's had a tough life. Though that isn't really any excuse for being a complete chienne.

The divine Destiny: Thank you! This will continue (gods know how long...it's been going a month or two, wouldja believe? Don't worry...four months is the longest it's ever taken me to write a story.) Thank you for your encouragement!

The fantastique FireLily: I am *very* glad for all you delightfully lazy people who can't be bothered to sign in right now ~ the Xing thing doesn't tell me who's submitted the review if they've signed in (bizarre much!). I like writing Ryan :-) He's infectious (but mind you, so is measles.) Merci!

The halo'd Heavengirl221: I am a total sucker for romance, either writing it or reading it! So...people pair off :-) I'm trying to write what I can, but these damn exams are getting in my way! However, it's half-term in two weeks and then you won't see me typing for dust. Thanks!

The joyeuse Jinx: I like the idea of streetrats (ever since I saw Aladdin...I still adore Disney films.) It sure snows a lot where you are! (it's flooding round my way.) I thank people...it's a thing I do...I mean...it's *right* and it's *fun* and if more people said thank you, there'd be a lot less trouble in the world. Okay, I didn't mean to go all quasideep. Thank you!

The kalos Kierce: Thank you! Brief and bounteous!

The kudostic Kira: Ah, metaphorical fireworks, ain't they fun? Maybe there's some kind of moral to the story (don't hold a knife to someone's throat? Though that one may be pretty obvious)...but revenge is always fun! I'm glad you don't mind the wait, because gods know you have to wait long enough! Thanks for your patience!

The mignonne Magelet: Thank you :-) I have no idea when the next part is coming, due to my complete lack of organisation (read: lazy git.) But I'm aiming for a part on the week every week! I hope you enjoy and merci muchly!

The mighty Me: Thank you! It's always lovely to be told that, and it's picked up my seriously c*** day.

The miraculous Mel: What the hell is going on? Well, that's a question I ask myself every morning (as well as why on *earth* did I set my alarm for 6am) and the answer is: no one really knows. Maybe it's some big cosmic joke (in which case I'm not sure I want to hear the punchline). As for the story: I'd like to coin that famous phrase All Will Be Revealed :-) Thanks for the luck! It's served me well so far!

The natty Noel: Thank you for such a blush-making list of adjectives! Pip gets her own back, as life should be :-) Your midterms are part of your grade? My mocks aren't - they're just a pain in the ass! (But then again, they are *exams*.) How Ryan and Andrea are connected...hmm...well...you'll find out! 

The priceless Perfect1: I'm delighted to hear that! (But hey, if you do spot any glaring errors, revolting bits of writing or general plot vortexes, yell.) Thanks! Sorry the next part took so long to get here...

The phenomenal Phantasea: Well. I'm a-guessing you just found out what happened to dear Ryan (was it evil? If it was, I probably wrote it after a particularly nasty 'xam). Neal's a big strong maaaaaan. He can cope on his own! (And if he can't, well, what's he doing being a knight?) :-) Thank you!

The quickfire Quartz: Yes, Bruna, that complete chienne was crying! And you will find out why...and Ryan's dying too...and you just found that one out to! I like a cliffhanger or two. No Prozac? Try bananas! Very healthy and also scrummy! And goes well with melted chocolate. I have no plans to cut off my ear, though plans for my head may be forthcoming :-) After all, there's nothing in there, why do I need it?

The sunny Shannon Cooper: Yes, a cliffhanger...they're so...addictive. I can't resist. (Cliffhangers and white Toblerone...my two fatal addictions.) What happens? Well, I guess you just found that out :-) And I hope you liked it! Whatever it was! (I write this before I write the next part.)

The splendifirous Silver Mist Tigress; By the way, where did you come up with that great name? I have a thing for description. I can't stop (like Pringles, once you pop, you can't stop...maybe it's time for my medication). I don't know, I love cliffhangers because they just leave everything poised to go any way you want. And you sit there and try to think what's going to happen and feel smug if you do :-) Thanks!

The tremendous Team Socket: Is it me, are you insatiably romantic? :-) I'd just like to borrow from Doris Day here, and say Que sera, sera. (I'm pretty sure that's French...) Thanks! Forever? Well...forever's a long time.

The brilliant :o): Thanks! That's okay, reviews don't have to be long ::grins:: I'm not going to put a word limit on them...though that would be kind of funny. Ah, computer studies; the bane of many a life. Well, November 5th may have been and gone, but fireworks, like jelly (and when I say jelly, I don't mean what you put on your toast, I mean the wobbly translucent stuff) are great at any time. Thank you!


	15. Shapeshifters and Screams

First off, my humble apologies for the lateness of this; I've been busy beyond my wildest nightmares lately – the only time I've had to myself was to watch the ever-welcome, if terribly heart-rending, return of Formula One. So a vast, delighted thank you to all the amazing, special and thoughtful people who commented the last time round; thank you for being so patient and for giving me your muchly valued thoughts, opinions and criticisms; proper thanks, as ever, are below. 

Anything you have to say would be utterly adored, pored over, cherished and worshipped :-) I thrive on feedback, it is the icing on the delicious cake of writing, so please make my life sweeter and tell me what you think! Comments, criticisms, rants, raves, questions, demands are all very welcome, and I would be eternally grateful if you give a moment of your time to review.

Author's Note: Fidelis is a Latin word. I'm sure you can guess what it means. If not, give me a yell.****

Hanging On Part Fifteen

She was in a village. In a village, in her spirit body, pale and insubstantial as a ghost.

That, Andrea understood. And there was the boy, the streetboy who had travelled so far to save her, riding with three people she didn't know at all. One a noble girl, whose face was icy pale, as though she drowned in chill waters. One a squire, a stocky girl whose eyes were hard with determination. And one a mage, whose true face lay under an enchantment but shone through to her eyes with the iridescence of a dragonfly's wings. All this she saw.

And her heart turned to lead as she saw the black-clad man.

Him. The Executioner, who had brought her to the gallows and but for the intervention of the streetboy, would have killed her.

Beware! She wanted to shout, but knew they would never hear her, this ghost of a girl. Run, run quickly! He is not a man, he is an evil thing!

And as the man and his crowd of soulless villagers charged, she could only watch, a ghost that no one saw or heard.

****

Cleon of Kennan sighed and stretched lazily. The winter sun was bright and warming on his back. Not far to go now, he thought. Soon be back to the palace for Spring Equinox. It was a comforting thought. Back with all his friends, with know-it-all Neal, quiet Seaver, Faleron who had more noblewomen chasing him than Cleon had hot dinners, and of course, his grin widened, Kel.

"I don't know what you're looking so cheerful about, squire," Inness, Kel's brother and Cleon's knight-master said grumpily. "We've leagues to ride yet, and in this company too."

Cleon shrugged happily. He knew Inness didn't really mind travelling with the Fifth Riders, who they had meant in Port Legann some weeks back and been travelling through the country with of late, or with Sir Paxton, who, strict old devil that he was, at least didn't talk much.

No, it was Joren of Stone Mountain Inness didn't like and didn't bother to hide.

The blond page rode up ahead, as far away as possible. His hair shone blood-red in the light of the setting sun. More like his true colour, Cleon thought. Yes, Joren and Kel might have called this unlikely truce a while back, but he didn't trust him one bit.

"You all right there?" said the Riders' leader, a freckled, quirky girl called Miri. She had slowed down to talk to them. "I know this might sound a little strange, Sir Inness, but...we haven't been attacked in weeks."

Kel's brother frowned, and looked very like his younger sister then. Cleon eavesdropped unashamedly – that was what squires *did*."I know. It's been bothering me too. Since we hit Dunholt and Farbrook, the lands seem to have been empty of immortals. It was quiet when Cleon and I rode up this way too...very strange, this place was overrun but a month or two back."

"We've not passed a village that's said anything to us about killing one either," remarked the Rider girl, absently patting her horse's head. "And they're usually so proud of it, too."

"No one in the villages has said *anything* at all lately," remarked Inness, his frown deepening. "Never mind about immortals."

"Sir?" Cleon cut in, flushing slightly as they both realised he had been listening. "There was that one village, where you stopped to take a stone out of Nightshade's hoof..."

Inness shrugged. "Yes, but I went into the smith's to beg a new shoe and he didn't say a word."

"Not to you, sir," Cleon muttered, "but his apprentice came over and...well, he asked me something very odd."

"Odd?" Miri's eyebrows arched. "Define odd, Cleon." 

"He asked if either of us were Gifted," Cleon said, faintly puzzled. "And I thought you know, maybe it was because someone was ill, but when I asked, he just told me...that no, everyone here had been cured of their ills. And he laughed. It was...strange."

"You didn't mention this earlier," Inness said sharply.

"I didn't think anything of it, truth to tell," he answered. "Village folk can be a bit bizarre. Round my way, they were all half-afraid of me. I don't know why, one of them kept muttering about monsters and my family." Cleon grinned. "We aren't *that* bad."

Miri snorted. "You nobles. Such a high opinion of yourselves."

However, his knight-master didn't seem to be taking it as lightly. "We'd best press on," he said. "Next village—"

Suddenly they saw a bolt of black streak past them. Cleon whipped round to stare after it; it was a hawk, flying uncommonly low, and as he watched, it turned and pelted back to land amidst them, then shapeshifted into the form of a tall and extremely clothes-less man.

"Master Numair?" Inness said, throwing him a cloak as Miri went scarlet and turned her head. The mage had bruises all over his face, and a gash bleeding down his side. "What's going on..."

"Listen!" the mage snapped. They all silenced and faintly, at the very edges of his hearing, Cleon heard—

Screaming, dreadful and unnatural sounds like a pack of wolves mingled with tigers.

"The village up ahead," the mage said briefly. "Some of our own are in there – ride fast. You're fighting shapeshifters. Sir Inness—" His voice halted the knight as he began to ride off. Cleon stopped also; Inness *was* his knight-master.

"Master Salmalin?" the knight said tersely as the Riders left. "Hurry, if as you say—"

"Keladry is in there," the mage said, his dark eyes sorrowed and exhausted. "And two of my students, young mages. Do not do anything in haste. I will join you shortly."

Inness's face tightened at the thought of his younger sister in there and Cleon felt his own heart clench with fear. Mithros guard Kel, he thought. She's a friend I can't bear to lose.

Inness spurred the horse down the road, his face set with rage. Had he glanced behind him, Cleon would have seen the tall mage collapse, slowly creasing up on himself until he was a black heap in the road. 

But Cleon saw nothing.

Something else, however, did.

****

Andrea felt Ryan Talver die, felt his life snuff out like a candle without even a wisp of smoke left behind it, and she *screamed*, throwing all her magic, all her soul after this boy to who she was linked in some inexplicable way by her gods.

But there was nothing. Not a flicker of his Gift to cling to, only the hollow, hushed space where he should have been.

~ Mithros! ~ She shouted for her god, her champion. ~ Mithros, answer me! ~

The silence rolled around her. And Andrea got angry.

How *dare* he abandon her? How *dare* he ignore her, and let her be caught and imprisoned by that foul beast that back there, back where her body was, was hurting her? How dare he let this boy, who was the only one who cared enough to search for her, die?

~ MITHROS! ~ she shrieked furiously at the sky. ~ You *will* answer me! ~

Winds screamed around her.

~ You *dare* summon *me*? ~ the voice of her god bellowed in outrage, echoing as the deepest cavern. ~ A mortal? ~

~ *Your* mortal! ~ Andrea shouted furiously, forgetting his power. ~ You chose me, now you damn well protect me! ~

A pause, and then booming laughter filled the air. Mithros appeared in front of her, as ghostly as she herself, his stern eyes hot as the sun, but his mouth smiling. ~ Little mortal, you impress me, ~ he said. ~ Why do you call? ~

~ The boy! ~ she said desperately. In her ghost form, she stepped through the fallen bodies, a silent dancer amongst this dreadful tableau. She was a golden being, a torch within the foul and choking darkness that ringed this place. 

She stopped by her streetboy saviour, and stared down. His face was the bland pale colour of flour, and along his throat ran that thick line of darkening crimson, ragged as a madman's grin. 

For me, she thought in anguish. It is I who did this. 

~ Please, ~ she said, turning terrified eyes to her god, ~ Please, save him. Bring him back. ~

~ The souls of mortals are beyond my grasp, ~ Mithros answered, and there seemed to be something like sorrow in his voice. Looking into his eyes, which had become dark and silent as an open grave, she saw he spoke true. ~ I can only touch their lives, for life is guided and decided. But death is chance, and it is a game even gods cannot hope to win. ~

~ No, ~ she said softly, denying it. In her face, the god could see something shattering, such loss in her eyes. ~ The only person who has cared anything about me, and you let him die? ~

~ It is so, child, ~ a new voice said.

Andrea spun, and the Goddess was there, simple in a black shift that seemed to glow with the trapped colours of the nights. She was beautiful beyond any mortal woman, but it was a hard, gemlike beauty. Not warm or living, and perhaps not even real.

~ You were supposed to look after him! ~ Andrea said wildly.

The Goddess's smoky gaze reminded the girl of the fell marshlights, the luminous green lights that lured travellers to their death in the murky waters. ~ This is magic beyond me, child. We gods have little power where belief has been forsaken. Belief is what gives us our strength...and so many of these mortals have traded their belief for the shadow-magic. ~

~ No! ~ Andrea shouted ferociously. Her face was fierce as a vixen defending her den. ~ I won't let it be true! I won't! ~

She knelt by the boy's body, barely noticing the herd of new people, of horsemen stampeding through the masses of beasts that snuffled and yowled at the swirling edges of night that pushed out the bleeding orange sun. She didn't notice the girl-squire who was close by, still feebly fighting the creatures that attacked her.

Her magic rolled around her like a golden cloak, making the air curiously warm, though no onlooker would have seen anything amiss. Healing the fatal gash along his throat took but a second, yet though his body was whole, it was empty of his soul.

Andrea noticed nothing but the flat and fixed grey of this boy's eyes, the gateway to where his spirit had fled. Slowly, slowly, she drew on the Gift that simmered within her. Those dead eyes, with their expanse of stony, shrunken grey and the two black abysses within them. She willed herself down that gloomy tunnel, along the path his soul had flown for the Realms of the Dead, wanted it, craved it with every fibre of her being—

She was falling, tumbling frantically down that long and empty channel into endless shadows, her magic leaving a trail of golden light behind her to guide her back.

She fell and thought she heard wisps of voices she had once known floating around her among weeping and wailing and sorrow that weighed on her like fathoms of choking black water.

"...never have been born..."

"...must run faster, my daughter..."

"...come back, come back, we miss you so..."

And then a light, looming at the end of this cold tunnel as unearthly winds made her hair stream behind her like a golden veil, a bright blue light that exploded into her eyes—

She was in the Realms of the Dead.

****

Mithros glanced at the Goddess. "Mortals," he said dryly. "They have so little faith in us."

"They can only believe what they know," the Goddess said mildly. Her face, to Mithros, was not that of an inhumanly beautiful woman, but merely the personification of feminism; at one and the same, he saw in her the child, snub-nosed and innocent, the bold and lovely maiden, the shielding mother and even the raddled crone, wise and fearsome. "And all that girl-child has known is prejudice and hatred. We cannot expect her trust."

The sun-god sighed, making his burnished armour glint golden in the light of the dripping sun. "Still, she was painfully easy to fool," he said with a touch of dourness. "Mortal lives are beyond us indeed!" He snorted. "We're *gods*. The universe itself is but a toy in our grip."

"A fragile toy, all the same," the Goddess cautioned. "We must be careful not to break it. What do you think of our young cubs?"

The god's piercing gaze became thoughtful. "Their magic may one day rival our own," he said finally. "I have seen grown magic-mortals—"

"Mages," corrected the goddess firmly. Mithros was inclined to have his head in the clouds – no pun intended – most of the time, while she kept herself far more involved with mortal affairs; after all, it was women who had the practical hard work, while the men sought battle glory and fame, for the most part.

"Very well, grown mages unable to travel to the Realms of the Dead. And yet this child, this Andrea Kirisra, managed in a few breaths."

"Well," purred a new voice, heavy as silk and slightly rasping, "If the sun-god ever deigned to look down at his oversized feet occasionally, he might have noticed that mortals have grown more powerful."

A small black cat had simply appeared and twined itself around the Goddess's feet before leaping to her shoulder in one swift, graceful motion. 

"My feet are not oversized," replied Mithros indignantly as the Goddess and the cat shared a secret, feline smile. "I'm a god; therefore, I am perfection. All feet should be measured in relation to mine."

"Dear me," said the cat disdainfully. "You gods do seem to find the concept of a joke so difficult to grasp."

"Not all of us, little one," the Goddess murmured, stroking the glossy black fur. "You are however right; mortals grow ever stronger. Look." 

All three turned to stare at the carnage before them. "They have so much power they believe they no longer need us," the Goddess said softly, her voice the soft murmur of a brook. 

"What dark sorcery is this?" scowled Mithros, for the first time noticing the true horror of the scene. Jets of lightning leapt from his hair as he began to smoulder in fury. "Why was I not told of this?"

"You were too busy ruling the world," the cat muttered. "Obsessive dictators always seem to miss their downfalls."

"You will tame that beast!" barked the god.

The Goddess raised a perfect eyebrow. "You can take a cat from the wild, brother, but you can never take the wild from a cat." She stroked the cat, and it wriggled and purred upon her shoulder. "Fidelis is entitled to his opinion."

The cat blinked its deep purple eyes smugly at the god, who glared back. That stare would have killed anyone mortal, but the cat began to wash its face disinterestedly. 

"As it happens," the Goddess said calmly, "I did not know either. And you spoke true; we have little power here. What will occur is in the hands of the mortals."

"Oh *me*," Mithros said fervently.

****

Cleon thought he was going to go insane when he saw the village.

They had ridden frantically through silent empty houses, hearing that unnatural clamour of feral voices while their horses' hooves thundered fiercely in their ears, kicking up dust. 

And then they came to the other side, and the carnage there made his heart hurt for the horror.

Animals and people were scattered around, and tired of their prey, the villagers, had turned on one another, maddened by bloodlust and magic they had no concept of. Creatures snarled and tore at one another, howls rising balefully into the air. He was glad of the gloom; at least then he could pretend that those still dark shapes slumped on the ground were sacks, not living beings.

The creatures were all predators, with hooked claws and muzzles that dripped liquid darkness. Wolves, most, some large felines that yowled and arched their backs, some mere cubs that tore frenziedly at whatever was nearest.

As the creatures saw the Riders, most fled into the forests around the village, sleek and menacing forms that slid away. But some remained, their lips skinning back. Growls erupted around them and the Riders horses shied away. They seemed to be led by a huge black wolf that towered above the rest by a hand, a wolf with inhumanly red eyes that glowed like a sullen blood-moon.

"On foot!" Miri shouted. "Have your weapons to hand *before* you dismount. Ricken, Vanya, load up those crossbows!"

"Aim to kill, " Inness's voice cut in flatly. Cleon glanced at his liege lord's face and was shocked at the harsh and grim lines drawn there, like someone had run sharp nails down his skin. 

"Are you sure?" Miri said, her bright eyes wide. She was ashen, Cleon saw, and felt better knowing he wasn't the only one afraid.

"Hadn't you better make up your mind...sirs..." The clipped and lazy voice of Joren drawled into the silence. He looked completely unflustered by the grotesque scene before them. "Those creatures don't look like they're about to put their feet up and wait for us to decide."

One leapt, its mouth opening into a red maw. It sprang with a speed and strength no wolf had, aiming at the mounted Rider closest. Cleon could only watch it horror, see the fluid grace in its muscles and realise, staring at its shiny jade eyes that this was nothing human, not anymore—

A crossbow twanged. 

The creature folded in mid-air and hit the ground, skidding a foot through the dirt before its dusty corpse came to a halt.

The Rider it had been aiming at gave the archer, Vanya, shaky thanks.

"Guess we're aiming to kill then," the girl drawled, reloading her crossbow. She flicked short red hair from her eyes and sighted at another. "Ready, Miri."

"Dismount," Miri said tersely and they leapt off, weapons drawn and poised. "Wave-walker guard us, advance."

They walked slowly forward. Cleon could feel sweat between his shoulders blades and his heartbeat seemed to drown out all else. He saw a huddled form to one side, messy with blood, and prayed it wasn't Kel. He had not prayed in a long time, but now he called the name of every god he knew.

The black wolf raised its head to the darkening sky, and a liquid, eerie howl poured from its throat like sleek oil, curling into the air.

Then it lowered its raven head, those red eyes stoked from within and glowing hot, and charged, its Pack baying behind it.

Snarling filled his ears and before he knew it, Cleon was embroiled in a furious, ungainly fight. He struck out wildly, aiming for glinting, slavering muzzles and slashing claws. He heard distantly the sharp twang of the bows, saw animals slump to the ground in pooled heaps and become humans again, waxen in death.

They were winning, he understood suddenly, as he flung away a wolf that had sunk its teeth into his arm, kicked at some kind of desert dog that clawed his calf. Bloody but exhausted, the Riders and the knights were hanging on, striking back. 

He lifted his sword again, and then realised there was nothing left to fight. As he watched, the black wolf slunk into the woods, leaving only bodies behind. 

The silence hit him like a punch. It was a fey, terrible silence; the hush of a battlefield, broken only by the whimpering of wounded beasts that stared at them with rabid eyes, the soft curse of a Rider whose arm had been broken and—

"Two hundred nobles of silk, ruined!" carped Joren, his cornflower blue eyes horrified. "And *look* at my armour! Saliva *all* over it, do you have any comprehension of how revoltingly difficult that is to clean off?"

Cleon was debating between breaking his nose or breaking his jaw, when Joren looked at his feet and exclaimed even *more* loudly,

"Well, well, Lady Bruna of Farbrook!" He sounded positively gleeful. "So she finally found her place; in the dirt."

Miri limped over, rubbing at a scrape on her cheek. "Is she all right?" she demanded. 

Joren gave her a cool look. "People like Bruna bounce back," he said serenely. "Haven't you heard that scum always floats to the top?"

Takes one to know one, Cleon thought silently.

"I didn't ask for a social analysis," Miri snapped. "Is she injured?"

"There a large pool of blood around her head," Joren pointed out. "Is she likely to be taking a quick nap? I doubt it." When he saw Miri's face, with a heavy sigh, as though he couldn't *believe* how unreasonable the Rider was being, he bent down and had a look at her. "Nothing a good healer won't cure."

"Good." The brown haired young woman turned away from Joren. Cleon saw her lips moving silently, and guessed it wasn't polite praise. "Inness, are those two ours?"

Inness's voice was slightly strangled. "One's dead," he said, his face bleak. The other's...it's my sister."  
  


And as he turned the suddenly small, fragile heap over, Cleon's stomach jolted coldly as the head lolled back and he saw the torn, pallid face of Keladry of Mindelan.

****

The gathering was in full swing when the Lioness strode in, her purple eyes ablaze with their usual barely repressed fury at having to spend time with the Court, and the King clapped his hands and called for a halt to the music.

"What on earth is going on?" Pip whispered to Neal as they left the dancefloor. They hadn't moved from it for a half-hour at least, and he was surprised to find his feet didn't ache at all. Still, he thought, dancing with Pip was a delight; she was graceful as a sylph, and never stopped cracking jokes and making arch comments on everyone around her."I've never seen the King stop a dance."

"I don't know," Neal said softly. "But he called this ball for a reason, and I suppose we're about to discover it."

"Lady Lioness," the King said sharply. "It is kind of you to grace us with your esteemed presence."

The Lioness glared back, her red hair as fiery as her temper. "I was washing my hair."

"Where, in Scanra?" the King said, his sapphire eyes piercing. Neal had to wonder how Lady Alanna managed to hold his stare. On the other side of the room, he could see her husband, the reckless baron, hiding a grin.

"Would you get to the point?" the Lioness demanded as the Court rippled with amusement. "I assume this isn't a social gathering, despite those out-of-tune musicians."

The King dismissed her with a curt nod. Alanna spotted Neal and Pip and gave them a wide smile.

"He's so *banal* sometimes," she muttered. "And may I assume this is Lady ha Minch?"

"Lady ha Minch is my mother," Pip said wryly. "I'm Phillippa."

Neal could tell from the glance the Lioness shot him that she approved of Pip. "The one all the squires have been teaching to fight?"

"They didn't teach me," Pip corrected in a firm whisper as the King began a welcoming speech – a formality, nothing more, before he got down to business – "They have expanded my knowledge of ways to break bones."

"I'm glad to hear it," the Lioness said with a chuckle. "Long may it continue. Oh, you *are* here," she added to the attractive, grinning man who had strolled up, light-footed as a cat. "Phillippa, this is my good-for-nothing husband, Baron George Cooper."

"Good-for-nothin'?" the former thief said lightly, giving Pip a wink from his hazel eyes. "You weren't sayin' that last night, lady-me-love."

The Lioness went a colour of furious red as her husband laughed. "As you can see," he said cheerfully, "my noble lass hasn't cured me of all my commoner habits yet." He glanced up. "Good job I was here already," he said with a sigh, "or it would have been a long trip from the Swoop."

Why Baron Cooper had been there, Neal didn't know, though he was beginning to suspect that the Lioness's fiendishly intelligent husband was the man who kept the King so well informed through a vast network of spies.

"Do you know what this is about?" the Lioness asked him. She had one hand curled around the sword at her waist, the way she always did when she was unsure. If there was one thing Neal had learned about his knight-master, it was her absolute faith in weaponry. 

George Cooper lost his smile abruptly. "Aye. It's not good, lass. I've never heard of the like..."

"The like?" Alanne frowned. "Stop being so infuriatingly cryptic!"

"Jon's about to explain," the one-time thief said grimly.

Glancing around, Neal realised the King had indeed finished his speech and was gazing around his court with solemn eyes. Silence fell among the nobles, the well-bred and ill-mannered, those dressed in silk while their people wore rags and those who cared, thankfully, more for their own people than for gatherings of this nature.

"A new danger has been brought to my attention," the King said softly. "Courtiers of Tortall, these past years we have braved fire, fog and flood. Immortals have tried to overwhelm our lands and failed; magic grows ever more powerful and ever more dangerous. Our younglings have been lost to war and illness. And out of the ashes, we have risen again with new alliances and new discoveries. But I fear the darkness is upon us again."

Neal glanced at Pip, unnerved by this speech. Her face was intent, her sea-green eyes fixed upon the King.

"The north has fallen," King Jonathon said quietly. The words fell into the unnatural hush like the thud of an axe, clean and sharp. "Not to invaders or immortals, but to evil of the highest order. A new magic has arisen there, a magic which transforms men into beasts."

"Wild magic!" someone called out. Neal glanced across the room and saw Daine Sarrasri's face, calm and serene. She must have been told earlier, Neal thought, and realised he hadn't seen her since he left her hours earlier to prepare for this meeting. 

"Not so," answered the King. "This foulness is made by the slaughter of those with magic. The people of the north have stolen the powers of countless immortals and Gifted, massacred more than we can ever truly know. They have forsaken our gods, and follow a tainted religion of blood and lunacy."

The Court was rapt, paralysed by fear and curiosity. People huddled closer, unsettled by the solemnity of the King. Suddenly, their tawdry clothes and gleaming gems seemed out of place.

"We must stop this madness." That stern sapphire stare swept the mass of nobles. Beside him, Queen Thayet was dignified and pale as a marble statue. "I learned this news but this morning, and I must tell you that at least three of our own walk those shadowy paths. Numair Salmalin, Bruna of Farbrook and Keladry of Mindelan are far from our safety now. But not for long."

"My liege!" The Lioness's voice rang out. Her purple eyes were brilliant with emotion. "A question."

"Champion," the King acknowledged.

"You say that these people have magic that allows them to become beasts. How can we fight this? I mean no offence to Daine, but having seen her fight, I must say I would be hard-pushed to fight one shapeshifter, let alone many, even with the Gift."

The King nodded his dark head. "True, Lioness, but from what I have been told, few of these people have any great control over what form they take. They are untrained in the arts of magic, and we know too well that magic is never easy to control."

"What do you propose?" 

"First," the King said grimly, "I must have the name of all who are here tonight. The leader of these...I hesitate to call them people, for no human being would do such abominable deeds...this group, is a noble."

There was a shocked outcry at that. The King held up a hand. "It is true. I myself spoke to a runner from one of the villages who took flight when he saw what was happening. Had he arrived sooner, we might have beenable to save some of our Gifted. Those of you whose lands lie to the north must return as soon as possible. I will send knights and soldiers with you to protect your lands."

He looked around. "You will meet no immortals on your way. All immortals are gone from the northern lands. I will send mages with each of you, but be aware that the mages are likely to be the first attacked, so must be the most closely guarded. I would ask that you do not kill unless you must."

The sapphire eyes darkened almost to black. "But whatever the cost, we must erase this reign of bloodshed from our land." 

****

Thoughts? Comments? Opinions? All would be loved!

Ki

[kiananw@hotmail.com][1]

~ The sweetest flowers are soonest gone. ~

Please excuse the slight weirdness in my comments a) I'm chocolate deprived (given up for Lent) b) I got my exam results c) I'm sleep deprived d) I'm in shock e) I'm listening to Dido. 

Oh, something I just thought of: From March 24th to March 31st, I will be away; on the 24th I'm going to take a look round a university and from the 25th to the 31st I'm in Normandy, France, chaperoning some Lower Fourths with my school. So I'll try to get a part out the day before I leave and the day I get back. *Try*.

My completely gob-smacked, utterly elated thanks go out to the following:

The asombraso Ariana: I hope that's the right word, I'm sure it is! How many characters I do or don't kill off depends what sort of mood I'm in when I write it :-) My evil teachers (minions, all of them!) have given me yet more work! But still, holidays in another five weeks...I missed you too! I wouldn't say I'm back in the land of the living – just the not-so-obviously-gone. Huge thanks!

The awesome Arylia: Wow, phenomenal review :-) Thanks! Your story sounds fascinating – sure, I'd love to look over it and beta it for you. If you email it to me ([kiananw@hotmail.com][1]) I'll gte it done as soon as I can. You'll have to be patient with me though – my schoolwork is really *loaded* on me at the mo, so it may take a while (ie a week or two) The reason the names are ordinary ::grins:: is that if you chance to look at anything else I've written, the names are pretty out-there. I figured I might give everyone a break and go for normality for once! Cariad? That's Welsh for darling, n'est-pas? Thank you very much!

The ever-cheery Chip: Thanks :-) be as evil as you want, the world would be so boring if we were all perfectly angelic...you know, being evil and chirpy is a gift...anyways, here is the 'more' promised; I hope you liked it!

The dervish Daine: Into the fire…it's a song (a brilliant song) by Sarah McLachlan :-) I've never seen or read the Scarlet Pimpernel (that song suggests I've been deprived!) Hopefully, (fingers crossed!) I'll get into writing one day...someday...hey, don't apologise for not reviewing – I don't expect it, and it's always a wonderful surprise when you do. Cheers!

The dulcet Dead Flower: Yes, it really *did* just happen :-) The author strikes again! Yup, Mr Evil is Bruna's father, and he really made her childhood a misery. Pip's rumour spreading was a riot to write ;-) being creative is so much fun!

The dazzling Dee: Oh, read the Kel books! They're brilliant! I have yet to decide if they're as good as / better than Alanna and Daine's quartets, but they're still wonderful books :-) Neal and Kel...in the books I have read, Kel's crush on Neal is unreciprocated...I'm wondering if she / Neal will be an item or if (as it looks to be) it'll be Kel / Cleon. Ryan and Pip are just characters I created :-) They aren't like anyone really :;shrugs:: He is really dead. Happy homeworking :-) if there is such a thing! Cheers!

The delectable DJ Dim Sims: Alanna...I have the feeling she was out riding at that point, I could be wrong; but I don't think she'd have gone with them as she's Champion first and a mage second. Thanks!

The divine Draco: ::grins:: Thank you so much! I'm ecstatic that you like the story (you know, the fact that anything remotely useful or likable falls out of my head always surprises me) and hope you enjoy the rest of it!

The glorious Galli-vi: Thank you so much for such a thoughtful review! ::glows:: I'm highly of the opinion that the path of true love is in fact a thin dirt track covered with all sorts of nasty obstacles :-) Leastways, that's how I write it! (hopefully). I have a lot of fun thinking up the plots, and it certainly distresses me a lot. It's my escape, and a wonderful one it is too :-) Here's to *you*, and this place!

The heartening Harkly: Well, I don't know about *okay*...Ryan's still a tad deceased. ::grins:: Bruna: I feel quite sorry for her...I mean, her dad's not exactly Mr Sane and Well-Balanced '01...it's nice to know someone else doesn't hate her entirely too! Oprah...I have to confess, I have never seen Oprah…Springer is the closest I've got (I don't think Oprah's on in the UK, is it?) And worryingly, my spellchecker is not seeing anything wrong with Oprah...has she infiltrated even Microsucks Word?

The halcyon Heavengirl: Ryan and Kel didn't feature much in this part, I'm afraid, due to his certain lack of response (ie breathing g), but I hoped you still liked the story anyway! Thanks!

The jazzy Jenn: Gods, it must have taken you a while to read that! Wow, thanks :-) I'm glad you liked it; I'm afraid my cliffhanger obsession does seem have control of me, but well, it gives me something to write and you something to...well, to be annoyed about...and wonder about.

The jiggy Jinx: Well...they're *sort* of dead...in a technical sense. I have to wait until *April* to read Squire? Ohhh…so long... Pip's spunky and feminine :-) I figure you can still be a noble but not have to be a warrior, yet retain some semblance of kick-ass-ity and brains. Let's hope it works! Thanks muchly!

The kosher Karalea Ethereal: What a great name :-) Well, ryanisdeadryanisdeadryanisdead. Whether he stays that way is another matter altogether. ::grins:: It's great to know you like his character! (he's certainly fun to write). Hmm, I don't know how the romances will work out as of yet, though I guess I'll find out as I go! Thank you so much – and for being so patient!

The kick-ass Kira: Congrats on the signing – are they really dead? Well…yes and no. Depends on your point of view. Thank you for such patience, and for telling me you enjoy the story :-) It brightens my day!

The luminous Larzdinn: Hey, don't apologising for not reviewing! I don't demand tribute (I'm saving that for when I'm supreme ruler of the cosmos.) but am always exceptionally grateful when someone reviews :-) If you read all the chapters in one weekend - *wow*. This is one hella-long story! Ryan died in the name of...uh...well, sadism. But the show, the plot and the story go on, and who knows what'll happen? (Not me.) Writing widens my vocabulary too :-) Thank you very much! Hoping you enjoy the rest!

The lovely Leap: Hiya :-) Thanks for reviewing – and for telling me you liked the story, it really cheered me up! ::grins:: My Internet shuts off on me all the time (It's *so* annoying!). There are times when I think it should be renamed Hellnet instead of Dellnet. Thanks!

The lively Lily Potter: Argh! Please don't hurt me! Look, I didn't kill him *intentionally*, it just happened...the story took me over! I was possessed...I've hurried as much as I could! (Curse homework!) Thank you!

The marvellous Magelet: Thanks for commenting :-) What's up with Andrea? A whole range of things, but I think you just found out the main one! What happens to her in the next part gets interesting (okay, I haven't written it yet, but I'm going to *make* it interesting.)

The many-minded Maple: To my count, I have killed off at least three main characters (in other stories) to date. And at least another two are heading for the chop (like so many sheep and cows over here at the moment, Foot-and-mouth ::sigh::) You are free to clone Ryan if you wish :-)Thank you very, very much!

The melodious Mel: Thank you :-) I'm sorry it took me this long to get the next part out – life decided it would elbow in with jobs and essays and exams in general, but it really made my week a lot better to know you liked the story. Thanks!

The natty Naavi: I'm sorry, but cliffhangers seem to have become my trademark...maybe there's therapy for it? Like...abseiling...maybe I should get more sleep :-) Anyway, thank you so much for all the compliments – they made me go scarlet! I hope this chapter wasn't a let-down!

The outstanding Onua: Hiya! Three is everyone's very very very lucky number :-) – old proverb, what you say three times is true,. So thank you, thank you, thank you! ::grins:: Sure I'll continue, but I have *no* objection at all to you saying that! (I'm mad, but not that mad!) Thanks for commenting!

The quixotic Quartz: Coathangers, huh? ::grins:: Heart attacks are good for you! They...they...okay, they aren't, but I was trying to be optimistic! Easy? We-ell, not always, it's only easy when you know where you're going (you know, this could explain my life...) I wouldn't stop, don't worry...I just get delayed occasionally! Ice-cream...what I wouldn't give for some Hagen Daaz…mmm... Merci beaucoup!

The pukka Perfect1: Thanks :-) Well, me and my stupid cliffhangers...what can I say, it's a habit. Still, as long as you liked the rest! It's always worth writing when you can feel that you've made someone react...(even if it is because they're completely disgusted.)

The superlative Shannon Cooper: Ryan must suffer for my art :-) I have been known to randomly kill off main characters...but really, I'm not that cruel! And I have treat TP's characters with care, for the sake of continuity! Thanks everso – I'm overjoyed that you liked (and didn't!) it.

The splendid Silver Mist Tigress: I'm glad it was worth waiting for – I just wish y'all didn't have to wait! (This week I am evermore weighed down with essays, maths exercises, economics assignments...*why* did I choose those subjects??) I try to make the plot unpredictable! It makes it interesting for you, and gives me something to do in those highly boring French lessons...thanks!

The sparkling Silver Sereph: Maybe you should learn to love cliffhangers... :-) They are, of course, the ultimate power-trip for anyone who writes (well, if you can't have world domination...), and being the power-happy maniac I am (or so people tell me...), I like 'em! Well, yes, I killed him, but...it's for the greater good! Really!

The spectacular Sulia: Thanks for your patience :-) By the way, does Serafine mean wolf? (I was just wondering this because I saw it in a book called Carpe Jugulum, about werewolves, and well...it's my bizarre question for the day...) It's great to know you like the story! Thank you!

The 'specially superb Sparrow: Of course you are superb! It's true, romance is catching, rather like a plague :-) But it's so much fun to write! Nah, the thanks will enver be longer than the story because (as you might have spotted) the story gets longer each part, due to all the fabulous inspiration you guys give me. So no danger there! :-) Kel and Neal...I'll put on my best impression of Charlie Sheen in Friends: 'I really can't say'.

The terrific Tasidia: Thanks, I'm absolutely thrilled that you like the story! Thank you for the idea :-) It's given me some great inspiration! (Mind you, I have no idea what Kel wants...or Bruna...this is what comes of not planning!)

The tremendous Team Socket: All is about to be revealed :-) And yes…I would really kill him! Thank you!

The ever-happy :o) : *I* didn't kill him, the person who killed him, killed him. I just happened to write it. See? Not my fault at all :-) Do you have the Net in your school? ::thinks:: Wish we did. Thank you!

   [1]: mailto:kiananw@hotmail.com



	16. Realities and Recognitions

Hiya! My vast and incredibly grateful thanks to the absolute angels who reviewed last part :-) Thank you for your charm, honesty and patience! I'm in France from Saturday to Next Sunday, so don't expect anything until at least then, but then I'm on holiday fro 3 weeks (yay!) so I'll try to get at least five parts done (done, not posted) so I can post a little more regularly. 

To everyone who is still reading, blessed be, you have the patience of something **very** patient, and this part is dedicated to all of you...you're what got this written...

I would love, love love to hear what you have to say :-) Please give me your thought, comments, criticisms...they are all adored and worshipped.

Au revoir, (getting into practise)

Ki

Hanging On Part Sixteen

The Realms of the Dead.

Andrea turned her head slowly to look around. She didn't know what she had expected. A green, verdant paradise perhaps, or a place filled with winged things and golden light, but not...this.

A dark, narrow way lay before her, yew hedges lining either side. The scent of pine filled her nose, wild and fragrant, swamping her senses with its strength. 

I suppose I have to go down there, she thought. Glancing behind, she saw a thin golden cord that glowed with pearly light...and it was attached to her, disappearing into the small of her back. Fascinated, Andrea reached out and touched it. It felt warm, and it thrummed slightly. 

That's my Gift...that's my only way back. 

Jaw set, she walked into the narrow way.

****

"Mithros," Cleon muttered under his breath. A cold feeling swept over his body. That was *Kel*. That was his friend, lying there so small and pale. He'd never seen her looking vulnerable, but now, in the arms of her brother as he carried her over to the Riders' healer, that was just how she seemed.

"—gold nobles!" bemoaned Joren. "I had to pay through the nose for this—"

"Squire," Miri said sharply, from where she was knelt down, "if you don't be silent, you'll be paying through a broken nose." 

Joren shut up, but one corner of his mouth turned down in a slight sullen sneer. 

"Can I help at all?" Cleon said anxiously. He needed to take his mind off all this...carnage. That was the only word he had for the destruction that lay all around. He hated the silence, the way it seemed to swallow his voice, he couldn't bear the reek of blood and death on the air and the still forms around him. 

Miri frowned. "You can go back along the road and see if you can find Master Numair. And take Joren with you." Her eyes glinted with a little mischief. "Feel free to find a muddy, messy route."

Cleon cast one final look towards Kel. The healer had her now, a steady flow of icy-blue gift rippling over her body, over the numerous cuts and lacerations. Too many. Cleon turned away. Thinking like this wasn't doing anyone any good.

****

It was a maze.

Andrea had realised that as soon as she came to the fork in the path. A vast, yew maze where the only light was that of the golden cord behind her, and the Gift-fire she called to her palms. She had been walking in it for what felt like eternity, turning left and right aimlessly. She didn't know where she was going, but surely there had to be an end somewhere. Surely...

But after her feet had begun to ache, and her heart felt heavy with disappointment, Andrea decided that perhaps she was going about this the wrong way.

Let's think about this, she told herself, stopping at the next bend. This place isn't real. So this maze can't be real either.

She reached out, and her hand brushed the spiny smoothness of yew. It felt real, and it smelt real...and what she could see of it looked real.

That didn't mean it wasn't an illusion though. Dreams so often seemed real while she walked in them, yet they were only cages made from the desires of the mind. Maybe if she couldn't *see* the maze, that would help.

Cautiously, Andrea let her eyelids fall shut. The darkness seemed to swoop in around her, dark wings dropping over her. No sound, nothing but the flutter of her heart and the swish of her pulse in her ears. And there was something else...something odd...

She couldn't smell the green freshness of the yews anymore.

Andrea opened her eyes and the smell flooded back into her nostrils, so strong she almost choked. Just an illusion, then, but a very clever one. Why? she thought. Why put a maze here?

The answer was simple, of course. So the living couldn't reach the dead. The dead could see through illusions, everyone knew that. They saw the truth of everything, because they were no longer deceived by their senses. 

Again, she shut her eyes and this time, she began to walk. Step after step, half-expecting to hit the yew wall ahead...but instead, she kept on walking. Her feet began to thud on a floor that was no longer cold stone, but the perfect flatness of tiles.

As she stepped on, voices began to grow in her ears; first a soft murmuring, like a distant waterfall, then louder, until she could pick out individual voices. She didn't dare to open her eyes, in case it all disappeared, but she listened long as she walked faithfully into unknown darkness, and then...the voice she wanted.

"...ain't nothin' I can do 'bout it," a voice said almost sadly. "They's on their own now. I wish..."

Her eyes flew open, full of hope as the golden sun. 

Ryan Talver was standing there.

****

By dusk, the King had made his arrangements. Knights spilled forth from the castle in a sleek train, like dozens of tiny silver and bronze ants. Pitiful, feeble things. They looked so easy to crush...she prayed she was wrong.

Phillippa ha Minch watched them, riding away to this unknown peril. Other ladies wept, and waved scarves, threw favours to their menfolk and lovers. So many seemed almost to enjoy it – it meant nothing to them, just another distant danger that would be quickly dealt with. There would be death and pain and screams, but they would hear none of them. They would remain safe and sheltered, spinning tales of courage and glory under a burning sun.

"Pip?" She turned at the voice, still in her ball dress. It felt stupid now, a silly frivolous silken thing that didn't belong among this war that had come to Tortall. Yes, it was war. She at least would admit that.

"Neal," she said with a sigh. "You're going now?"

He was in armour, light mail that surely couldn't protect him from the monstrosity of these men who could become beasts. Magic. He was fighting magic, and all he had was a Gift to heal. Someone like him should never have been a warrior. What use was the sword he held again the ferocity of teeth and claws, against madness?

"I have to," he answered. The emerald eyes were unhappy, but at the same time, filled with desire for triumph. "It's my duty."

"Duty," Pip said scornfully. "Do you know what that really means, Neal?"

He came to stand beside her on the battlements, looking down at the nobles galloping into the night. Back to their lands, back into that realm of unnatural magic. "Ithink so."

She laughed bitterly. "What it means, Neal, is people being sent to the slaughter. Kiery, father, you, all of you...how many of you will come back? While we have to sit here and - *wait*!" She spat the last word out, her pale face flushed.

Neal considered his next words carefully. He didn't like seeing Pip this way, but what could he say? It *was* his duty. He had sworn to serve the realm, and that didn't mean that when the going got tough, he stepped back and refused to fight. *He* wasn't Vinson, something he thanked his gods for every day.

"I know it can't be much fun for you, my dear girl," he said gently, "but would you rather be out there? Fighting...being afraid all the time because you have no comprehension of what you're facing?"

"That's what life is!" Pip declared heatedly. Her sea-green eyes flashed with wrath. "It's not a tournament where the big brave men charge up and down and all us brainless ladies sit and clap politely. How can you expect to fight this when you leave half the kingdom to sit around and weep?"

"That's the way it's always been," he murmured. "There have been women warriors true, and according to—"

"You cite *one* book," Pip said in dangerously quiet tones, "and I swear, Neal of Queenscove, it will take the greatest healer in the realm to separate that sword from your posterior."

He grinned, despite the seriousness of the situation. "Pip, it's probably not as bad as the King said. It's a chance to fight for our land, to put right a wrong."

"How can you see glory in this?" Pip demanded. Looking out across the battlements, Neal saw the proud procession of knights, of glossy horses moving gracefully, or men whose faces were filled with determination to fight for the law of their realm. He wondered what Pip saw.

"How can you not?" he asked in return. 

The wind lifted her hair in spiralling tendrils. As she swung back to him furiously, she was like some avenging goddess, fierce and primal and lovely. "How can you be so *blind*, Neal! This is *war*!"

"I know," he said patiently. "But whether you see it as foolish or right, it's still going to happen. We have to fight for what we believe in, or there would be nothing to fight for."

She stared at him, biting her lip. "Oh, I *know* that," she said. Her voice was more exasperated than anything. "I just...wish people would be realistic. Don't let glory stop you being careful, Neal. If you get yourself killed, I'll resurrect you and kill you again."

She meant it. "I have no plans to get myself killed," Neal said dryly. "I'm rather attached to my life. It has certain quirks, like breathing."

Pip eyed him, her face sceptical. "Fine. Live a quiet life, Neal, don't die a hero's death."

He shrugged. "I'm planning on living forever. So far, so good."

A new voice cut across them. "Neal!" It was the quick, hard tones of the Lioness, magnificent in her golden armour. A nod of her head acknowledged Pip; the curl of her lip, the other ladies. "I was talking to Jon," she explained. "Phillippa, Thayet wants to talk to you later. She's going to organise the defence of the city, and as most of the men who can fight have been conscripted by the lords, it's a case of ladies first."

He saw his friend's eyes blaze with an unholy green light. "*Good*."

"It's time we left, squire," the Lioness said. Her face was set, severe in her armour and a saddlebag in one hand. She cast a half-amused glance at Pip. "Keep your goodbyes brief." 

Pip glowered after the departing, stocky form of the Champion. "She thinks we're..." she muttered furiously. "Honestly, why is the whole castle determined to think the worst?"

"Well," Neal said cheerfully, "it's always better to be pessimistic and wrong than optimistic and wrong."

"I suppose," the noblewoman said glumly. The breeze fluttered her hair up again and Neal noticed something shiny tucked at the nape of her neck. It couldn't be...her hair moved aside again and Neal was sure. 

"You're wearing a knife, you untrusting fiend!" he said, shocked. 

Pip blinked then shrugged. "I didn't trust that—" She said a word that made one of the noble ladies take a step away, looking alarmed. "—Vinson."

Neal sighed, raking a hand through his dark hair. "It's probably a good idea."

They were both side-stepping, he knew. Neal had never been particularly good with goodbyes, and Pip was like one of his family. 

"I'd better go," he said uneasily. It was strange, he thought, how everything could change so quickly. An hour ago, they had been dancing to the harmonised sweetness of violins and harps...now, they stood on the battlements, with a cold wind blowing from the north, a wind carrying tidings of battle and blood.

"You had," she said solemnly. Her eyes flicked away from him, down to the outpouring of people. Then she said, "Oh!" in an exasperated tone, and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodbye," she told him firmly, her voice cool and clear. "There, I've said it. Now *go*, for Mithros' sake, or the battle'll be fought without you."

"You sound just like my older sister," he commented sourly. That, he was beginning to realise, was what she had become. She was very beautiful, no doubt about that, but...there didn't seem to be anything *there*. She was fun to be with, and a challenge to talk to at the best of times, but she didn't make his heart pound or his breath catch... not the way there had been with...well, this was no time for *that*.

"Good luck," she said. "Give my best wishes to the others."

Neal couldn't stop the wicked grin that crept over his face. "Any others in particular?" He had noticed her deep in discussion with the Prince often. And she didn't seem to punch him as often as everyone else.

She swatted him on the head, starting to blush a little. "Shut up, Neal."

"My lady," he said courteously, executing a sweeping bow, for which he was promptly hit on the head. "Hey!"

"If you can't stop sweet, innocent little *me*," she pointed out, "what hope do you have against anyone else?"

Before she even knew what he was doing, Neal had moved, a flash of silver, and flipped her onto the ground. For a moment, her face was shocked (the nobles around them gasped in horror, no doubt thinking he had gone quite mad), then Pip began to laugh, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

Neal of Queenscove grinned down at her. "I'll cope," he said, and strode off to battle.

****

Numair Salmalin opened heavy eyelids to see only a blurred haze of blue. As he blinked, trying to clear his vision, he realised his entire body felt unaccountably heavy, as though every limb had been turned to stone. A dull, sinking feeling began in his stomach. He knew this spell; Ozorne had tried it on him once, long ago at the university as a 'joke'. Some joke...he had been unable to move until the Mithran master managed to untangle the spell; Ozorne had swanned off to hunt with his friends, laughing all the way, no doubt.

He tried to speak, but all that came out was a garbled moan.

"Arram?" The voice was a soft hiss. He recognised it from somewhere...the knowledge scuttled around the edge of his mind. "Blink if you can hear me."

He blinked. The haze above him was beginning to recede a little, and there was just enough feeling left in his body to tell him he was lying down.

"I don't suppose you remember me," the low voice went on. A flash of red slipped over his vision, like a rose of stained glass. "Laird y Sanra?"

Mithros, Mynoss and Shakith! How could he forget? 

As he vision cleared, he saw the pale oriental face with its slanting cheekbones and impassive expression. Only the eyes gave her away; the darkness of them was brimming with fear, but unless he had known her as well as he did, Numair wouldn't have realised anything was wrong.

"You've done well for yourself, Arram," she said dryly. Her voice was rich, bleak as the desert horizon. "I wish I could say the same."

He tried to speak again, but there was only the strangulated gasp that passed for his voice.

The girl – though she wasn't of course, she was a woman grown now, but to Numair she would always be the streetrat he had travelled with in those grim years after he fled from Carthak, moving from town to town with their paltry show of illusions and tricks – sketched in the air with her white fingers, her lips moving silently.

The weight lifted, leaving him light as a feather. Numair sat up gingerly, wincing as nerves sprung into tingling life. "What—" he began, before she clapped a hand over his mouth, shaking her head.

"Hush!" Laird hissed. "If it knows you're awake, we're both dead!"

"It?" he said, keeping his voice low. A swift glance around did not reassure him. This looked like some kind of cell, clearly a laboratory from the scrolls scattered about and the metal instruments that were neatly lined up on a stone slab. "Would you care to elaborate?"

Laird stepped back cautiously. "Are you going to keep quiet?" she whispered. He nodded, taking note of the red robe that she wore, the scarlet a leaping flame in the dim light.

"You're a mage?" When he had known Laird, she had been a fire-eating girl, a tumbler, nothing more. An eastern delight to the crowd with her long-legged grace and satiric, flashing smile that seemed full of mystery.

She nodded her head sharply, the silver rods holding her hair in an intricate twist gleaming. "Seems like it's catching, Arram."

He smiled, delighted despite the gravity of the situation. "Congratulations."

"Only a red robe though," she murmured wistfully. "Not quite your level. Really, Arram, you never said you were *that* Gifted."

He shrugged. He didn't look the part of the mighty mage now, in his travel-stained clothes, his grimy face and the sheer exhaustion he felt. "This 'it', Laird?"

She shifted uneasily, the scarlet robe rippling. Her dark eyes met his squarely. "Do you know what an Arachon is?" She spat the name, as if it was something tainted.

Numair blinked. Another immortal sprung to life? How many of these fabled beings lay hidden in their land? He had thought many were extinct, or locked in the Divine Realms. "Part spider, part dragon. Of legend, notoriously unstable. Three eyes, the third said to be the seat of power—"

"Still sound like you swallowed the scroll," the woman remarked with half a smile. 

"But why come here of all places?" he said irritably. "The north has very little land or protection. The coasts or the sea would be better – I believe it is aqueous by nature...and what on earth are you doing in the, the—" He trailed off, unable to voice his thought.

"The employment of one," Laird finished. Her face was bitter. "I was foolish, Arram. That was all. I stumbled across it one night and was fool enough to think I might capture it and take it back to Corus. In the midst of the War, I was convinced they would pay me for such a prize. I would be famous...living from charms and talismans is no way to make a living."

He smiled grimly, remembering the days when they both had lived just that way. Often they had gone hungry, or frozen sleeping on the streets because the inns were too costly."But still, an Arachon?"

Her eyebrows arched. "Alas, I didn't have your education. I didn't know how powerful the wretched creature was. It enslaved me...and I am the lucky one, Arram. It has others here, prisoners. All mages, all with power."

"Solely mages?" He frowned. It niggled at him...that was important somehow. Laird must have seen his confusion.

"Do you know what they feed upon, Arram?"

"I believe they feed upon...oh." he stopped. Enlightenment dawned. "Magic," he said softly. "It feeds on magic."

She gave him a thin-lipped smile. "Clever as ever. Yes, when the men began to take the magic here, the Arachon felt it. We came for a girl originally, some little Gifted creature that caused quite a stir in the magical world. But it has decided to stay – there is food enough for its lifetime running about."

"I know," he answered mildly. "We were seeking her."

Laird stared at him. "She is here," she murmured. "We caught her one even...sleeping out in open." The dark eyes flickered. "The Arachon wants information from her – the whereabouts of the boy."

Numair made his face a perfectly blank mask. "What boy?" he said as innocently as he dared. For all he knew, Laird was in league with this creature, not merely enslaved by it. 

Her brow furrowed. "I can't believe you don't know. The girl is bound to a boy, equally powerful. The Arachon wants them both..." her eyes slid away from his. "She wants you too," Laird said so softly he had to strain to hear her. 

He looked at her. "And why did you wake me, Laird?"Numair thought he knew the answer but he wanted confirmation.

His childhood friend, a girl who had discovered magical powers of her own, lifted that proud head and the fire in her eyes heartened him. "I want out of this," she said. "I can't spend my life paying for one mistake, being at its beck and call." She held up her arms, so the billowing sleeves of the robe fell back and he saw the weals along her arms. "I cannot take any more pain. I want it dead, and I need your help to do it."

He gave a little bow. "Agreed."

For the first time, he saw that wonderful genuine smile of hers, flicking white in the shadows. "Good," she said. "We must—"

She froze, like a deer in front of the hunters, her dark eyes deepening like two wells. "it's coming," she hissed. "Lie down, I must put the spell back on. I will tell it you are unconscious."

Hastily, he did as she asked and resigned himself to the slow, cold feeling that stole over him.

****

Their first meeting, face to face. Andrea stared at the boy, the boy who had risked his life for hers and paid the highest price of all. 

He looked the same. The gentle dove-grey eyes, with a steeliness behind them echoed in the sharp-cut features and coolly confident voice. Tousled dark hair that fell into his eyes, a wide mouth with a humorous tilt and tan skin. He could have passed for a noble, if not for the grubby clothes and rough voice.

"Hello." His stare was frankly startled. "What are you doin' here?"

Andrea swallowed. "I came looking for you," she answered. 

He shrugged, sorrow stealing into his face. "I'm dead. Ain't no use lookin' for me now. I can't help." His smile was crooked, sweet as honey. "I'm sorry I let you down. I should a' helped you."

"You're not dead," she pointed out. She glanced at the boy he was talking to. Another streetrat, with a wolfish appraising grin, and green eyes fresh as spring. "Who're you?"

"'M Quicksilver," he said, holding out a calloused hand. "Got knifed yesterday. I'm a-waitin' for the bastard what got me to show up." Sharp teeth gleamed. "Then I'm goin' to teach him not to hurt kids." 

"This isn't the Realms of the Dead," Andrea told Ryan. He shrugged slightly. "What are *you* waiting for?"

"Homage and power," he drawled. "I ain't got no idea. Guess I am waitin', now you mention it. But I'm dead, Andrea...that's your name, ain't it?"

She nodded. 

"It's pretty," he said mildly, and carried on. "I'm gone, an' I may be a streetrat but even I know that once you're gone, ain't no goin' back."

"I'm here." Her gold eyes met his defiantly. "I'm going back and you're coming with me, whether you want to or not."

The grey eyes widened, a smile curling up his mouth with breathtaking slowness. "Goin' to argue with the gods, are ye?"

"I already have," she snapped back.

Ryan stared at her closely. She stared back, hoping he would see the truth in her eyes. "You serious?"

"I walked this way to find you." Her voice was soft as ever, but ice lay under it like a sheathed sword. "You can at least give me some company on the way back." His face became uncertain; Andrea pressed her advantage. "Aren't there people you're going to miss? Do you want to leave everything behind for *this*?" She gestured disdainfully at the plain room.

She saw it in his eyes, a kind of growing wonder that changed them from misty into that pure, blazing turquoise of summer skies and knew she had won. 

"How do I go back?" he said finally.

She beamed. "Hold on to me, I suppose." She held out her hand, small and delicate.

It was the first time they had ever touched...and neither could have predicted what happened as lightning splintered the world.

****

Thoughts? Comments? Opinions...go on, review...you know you want to...do your good deed for the day!

My grateful, humble and completely overwhelmed thanks to the fabulous, wonderful and special people who commented :-) You made my day! Thank you for being so patient! Thanks to:

The awesome Aquilla: Welcome back! ::beams:: Oh, you have exams too? Poor thing! (I got my timetable today, ick!) Isn't it just wanton cruelty? Or is just me? Anyways, it's great to see you again, and thanks for telling me you like the story!

The amazing Arylia: Hiya! ::beams:; It was my pleasure, I enjoyed reading the story. I have the next part, I just need a moment! Don't worry, I'm not such an obsessive maniac (except in the case of Michael from Roswell aka God) as to correct spellings on reviews :-) Thanks!

The captivating Camilla: FF-net is a pain in the right royal hiney sometimes. It just doesn't want to work sometimes (but hehn it does work, it's fabulous) ::grins:: Thanks! I hope the story stays a little unpredictable...yeah, I've given up chocolate. Haven't had any since...March 03 now. Thanks!

The cosmic Catchfire: I wouldn't say Kel's okay, but she's still alive :-) Let's face it, killing off TP's character would be pretty much sacrilege! As for Ryan...well...I think this part explained it for me! Thanks os much - I'm thrilled you like the story!

The cheery Chip: You got my answer by email (I pray, honestly, the number of times Hotmail breaks...) so thank you once again!

The delightful Daine: ::beams:: Thank you! Do you know, I have the feeling Joren may well get just what it is he deserves. Oh no, they're all caffeine addicts in Tortall - how do you think they get out of bed in the morning? Why stop at the north? Why not reconquer the *world*! (No wait, that's my takeover plan...) Cheers!

The direct Dead Flower: Thanks for your honesty :-) Well...I figure not everything can be all honey and sunlight...plus, I tend to write how I feel. So if it's depressing, chances are it's been a bad day. I hope you like this part a little better :-) If not, tell me why. Thank you!

The divine Destiny: (wow, that sounds quite a strange phrase). Scary? I hope it is a little :-) Life's scary (and so was Comic Relief...my teachers took that a *leetle* too far!) Anyways, I'm absolutely over the moon that you like it - thanks muchly for telling me!

The glorious Gwyn: Thanks :-) ::Kiana winces:: Mind you, you've had to wait quite a long time for this part, so my apologies...I am an insatiable romantic (that's why I like TP's books so much!) so whatever I write, there's going to be romance. Thank you so much :-) I hope you enjoy the rest! 

The cracking Karalea: Well...even I'm not quite so terminally insane as to kill off my own character (though I do have a lot of days where I find I put cornflakes in the fridge and milk in the cupboard...) ::grins:: Gods need a good telling-off now and again. Thanks :-) I'm happy you're still liking it!

The kickass Katie: Thanks :-) It was good to hear what you liked about the story...medieval times just fascinate me...I just love the richness of TP's world (I'd love to live there...). Hopefully all the plot parts will pull together pretty soon! Thanks so much!

The laconic (kidding!) Lady: ::jaw to floor:; Whoa! That was one heeee-owge review :-) Thanks! Well, addictions are good! (Chocolate for example. Very good.) Thank you for such a thorough review...gosh...well, if it's any consolation, you lovely lot all fuel *my* addiction...Ryan inact? Darn, there's goes my hope off chopping off a limb :-) Hmm...he'll come back. How changed, I have yet to find out! Feel free to criticise...I can take it! Thank you very, very much indeed!

The lovely Larzdinn: I have the feeling FF has been playing up lately. Bless its little electronic socks. :-) Anyways, thanks for reviewing :-) Scary? Well, it's not quite up to Wes Craven level (or even close!) Ryan...well...I liked him too much to kill him. :-) He's fun to write. Ta!

The lively Leap:We have it for 'academic' stuff too (for this, read: check hotmail when no one is looking) but it's so darn slooow (no cable here). Thanks! If I don't keep them in character, shoot me. I'd deserve it. Thanks!

The marvellous Mel: Confusing is my middle name! Well...no...it's not actually. I don't *have* a middle name, but hopefully all will become clear(er). I hope you didn't go mad, what with all the time it took me! (Then again, madness isn't so bad...it's entertaining...) Thank you!

The nirvanic Noel: Ah, Pip's revenge...well...let's face it, getting your own back is such fun (not, of course, that I have ever done it, being such an ickle angel...) Repercussions? Hmmm...guess we'll have to wait and see! Thanks everso!

The outstanding Orenda: I have a fatal addiction to cliffhangers. Besides...it makes everything interesting :-) Even if it does mean some readers go bald...it gives me something to look forward to writing (I never plan when I write...so I know what's going to happen about as much as you do!) Thanks!

The 'onourable Onua: ::smiles:: Thanks very much! I'm elated that you like...hope you like the rest!

The quixotic Quartz: Ah, Dr Pepper...it's so scrummy! It sends me off the walls too...must be something in it...Joren's weirdness...someone's gotta have it (and the attitude!). Don't keep what/ ::Ki looks faintly baffled:; I think I must have my braincell switched off...Thanks! Go! Find Dr Pepper :-)

The sparkling Silver Mist Tigress: Believe me, I'm sorry I'm busy too :-) If I had my way, life would be one loooong holiday. Ryan nad Andrea are somewhere in-between dead and alive - I guess it's a kind of halfway house. Thanks for your patience!

The spectacular Sparrow: ::looks innocent and twiddles thumbs:: Sneaky? Moi? You must have mistaken me for someone else...would I kill Ryan? (Well...yes...but still! I am just a sweet innocent creature with no real comprehension of cunning or sneakiness.) Thanks!

The splendiferous Sulia Serafine: Thank you very much :-) I know it's such a long wait lately (curse school). I'm sure I'm going to love Normandy! (The more I hear, the better it sounds!) Hmm...I shall have to investigate the Serafine...I'm intrigued now...Thanks so much!

The terrific Tyr the One-Handed: Well, I can be mean...but I also believe in eternal hope, not to mention life after death (in the literal sense) which gives me some leeway to kill off characters :-) Thanks everso!

The wonderful Willows: Hey, no, as French goes, that was good! Considering some of the things I can say in French...which certainly aren't printable...::beams:: And thank you very much indeed!


	17. Forces and Fights

Hanging On Part Seventeen

I've been laid up with food poisoning, which admittedly is my own fault – if you will eat mussels, snails and whelks, you can expect this sort of thing. I can't believe how bloody long this took. Between the food poisoning, being away, and breaking the damn computer, I've had a lot less time than I thought :-( So for all of you who have the patience to keep reading this – THANKS!

Comments, thoughts, criticisms would be adored :-) If you want to get ahold of me offline, I'm at [kiananw@hotmail.com][1] and on AOL IM as KianaCae and on the web at [http://www.firesandflowers.cjb.net][2]

Hugs n' honey,

Ki

Hanging On Part Seventeen

Sunlight, blasting through Andrea's shut eyelids in painful golden beams. She clung onto Ryan as the closest thing she had to a friend right now, heard him curse in a soft voice.

"Children. Welcome."

The voice had a ring to it like a hammer striking an anvil, like the clash of a thousand swords in battle. Under it, Andrea thought she could hear the screams of the dying. Slowly, the blinding light dimmed.

"Oh, hell in a handbasket," Ryan muttered darkly. "It's the gods again."

"That attitude will not win you favour," the voice barked and Andrea recognised it. Mithros. 

Beside her, she felt Ryan snort. "You know what I've noticed?" he whispered in her ear.

"What?" Andrea found the courage to whisper back.

"I am your god," Mithros declared. She squinted at him from her watering eyes. He stilled glowed like the sun, his dark eyes piercing. His armour shone dazzlingly, sending sparks of light jumping around this...hall they appeared to be in. "I can smite you into a thousand pieces."

"They *moan*," the streetboy said fervently. "Never shut up about the fact they're gods. You'd think they were..." He paused, obviously at a loss for words.

"Gods?" Andrea offered, the starts of a smile curving her mouth.

A lightning bolt cracked by their feet. Startled, Andrea leapt back, seeing her shock reflected in Ryan's grey eyes. And then something that surprised her. Not fear...but anger. He wasn't at all scared of the god.

"You will listen to me when I talk!" the sun-god bellowed furiously. Andrea clamped her hands over her ears, and she swore that the earth trembled under her feet. Or...the marble floor, anyway. The hall was an iridescent marble delight, carven from glossy white and grey stone. Slender pillars stretched up to an arching ceiling covered in paintings of famous myths, while tapestries fluttered on the walls.

"Like anyone can avoid it," a sleek voice purred. Andrea looked down. A small black cat had wrapped itself around her legs, and stared up at her with extraordinary purple eyes. "Not exactly the shy and retiring type, is he? Well, pick me up, mortal, and scratch my ears."

Startled, she obeyed, the cat a warm purring mass as it wriggled to collapse on her shoulder. 

Mithros looked like he was about rupture something. Andrea looked around nervously for a place that might offer some sort of refuge from any stray thunderbolts he decided to fling and came up empty. 

"Hush, Fidelis," a smooth voice said. A woman came walking out form behind one of the pillars, her black hair a wavy mass that cascaded down to her feet and her eyes as green as spring. A simple white shift only enhanced her beauty. "Calm yourself, brother." Her intense stared fixed on Andrea, who clutched the cat more tightly. Surely this was the great Goddess who ruled over all women. 

She curtsied nervously. "My lady..."

The Goddess waved a languid hand. "You needn't bother, child." Her attention flicked between the pair of them. Ryan stared back coolly – didn't *anything* faze him? "So you have finally met."

Andrea glanced at Ryan, saw him grin faintly. She looked back at the goddess, a little of the awe dimming from the silken gold of her eyes. "We have, my lady."

"Not wantin' to offend an' all," Ryan put in helpfully, "But did you want somethin'?"

The Goddess raised one slender black eyebrow. "Child, it is strange how without wanting to offend, you manage it marvellously every time."

"'M a thief, not a noble," the boy said with a shrug. "An' a dead thief at that. What else can anyone do to me?"

"I can be very creative," Mithros said darkly.

"Oh hush, brother," the Goddess said dismissively. "You're all thunder and no lightning."

The storm god looked...sulky. Andrea blinked. But gods didn't look sullen. They were supposed to be wise, and venerable, and...

"He's only behaving because last time he fought the Goddess, she won," the cat whispered in her ear.

...more human than she had thought.

"As for what we want..." The woman smiled, and it was as if the sun had plummeted into the room. "Look after each other, children. You are surrounded by danger."

Ryan didn't look impressed by this piece of divine wisdom. "My, how do you work these things out?"

"Girl...you must wrench free of the creature that holds you." The woman moved towards her in a swish of silken shift, the scent of summer. One cool perfect hand lifted her chin up and Andrea quailed inwardly at the face. "You are so afraid of everything, child. They have treated you badly...yet you had the courage to escape."

"I only escaped because I was afeared, my lady," she whispered, hoping the Goddess would not be angry with her.

"Do not be ashamed of your Gift," the woman said solemnly. "It is a thing of beauty and splendour. And do not be afraid of people. There are those who will not hurt you. You rescued one of them from the Realms of the Dead. You must protect Ryan, as surely as he must protect you."

"But *why*?" the streetboy said. For the first time, a hint of bewilderment crept into the rough velvet of his voice. 

The Goddess's stunning cat eyes narrowed. "Life has plans for you, children. I fear peacetime will not be long. New gods are coming from across the sea, and they are cold and cruel. It is not only mortals who will have a war upon their hands. Together, you will be stronger. We cannot help you much...but we have given you each other. Treasure the opportunity. It has saved you both already."

The woman let go of Andrea, and spun sharply. "Thief, you can steal nothing from this place."

"Just lookin'," Ryan muttered. He put down a silver icon he had been holding, looking sheepish.

"I have a suggestion, if I might?" the cat purred from her shoulder. "If Grumpy over there isn't planning on objecting."

Mithros's mouth was curled in annoyance. "They say curiosity killed the cat. They may be about to change it to incivility."

"Cats answer to no one," the creature declared, and leapt from Andrea's shoulder to the ground, landing light and sure. "The man who kills the Gifted and leads these thieves of the Wild Magic...he uses his magic to put fear into his victims. I think, should you look closely, you will find that is why this little mortal is so afraid of all and sundry. Nevertheless, she lived alone for months, even though she hated it. She could easily have taken up with some mortal man. After all, who would refuse *her*?"

Andrea flushed. She was no great beauty, the cat was just exaggerating. Her spun-gilt hair and golden eyes were unusual, and she had a delicacy of feature about her, but that was all. She was no Queen Thayet, or Princess Kalasin to win the hearts of thousands.

"She's brimming with magic," the cat purred softly, in its rich, rolling voice that twanged like the strings of a harp. "And not all of it is hers. There have been spells put upon her, to make her vulnerable and weak. Perhaps you could be useful for once, and lift them."

"You certainly *are* uncivil," the Goddess remarked. But there was humour in her eyes. "However, you are also right. And no doubt you will be insufferably smug about this for weeks."

The cat washed an ear laconically, giving no answer but the merry twitch of its tail.

"That is my duty," Mithros declared. "My chosen are known for their courage."

"And their big heads," Andrea heard the cat mew.

The Sun-God beckoned her over imperiously, and feeling nervous, Andrea obeyed. She was wringing her hands, she realised, and tried to stop. He put one huge hands over both her small ones, and sighed. "That wretched stray is right," he said flatly. "Someone has put unnatural fear into you, child."

She had thought he might apologise for shouting at her so often. But gods didn't apologise.

He murmured a word, and though she felt no physical effect, it seemed as though some of the darkness and dread had lifted from her mind.

"Be brave, chosen," he ordered. "The road is long, the night is dark and the time is short."

The cat arched its back. "I bet he spent ages thinking that quote up."

"And you, thief," Mithros rapped. "Guard my chosen one well. Or you will not find your next death as short-lived as the first."

Ryan gave Andrea a bright, startlingly sweet smile. "She's got to look after me too," he protested. "I'm just a poor, innocent little lamb, followin' the instructions of my gods..."

She had to smile. From what little she had seen of him, innocent was a word that could in no way be applied.

"Now begone from my home," Mithros snapped. "I grow tried of mortals cluttering it up."

The world winked out.

****

"He's not awake, master."

Numair prayed silently as Laird lied to the creature. Her voice was rock-steady, cool as ice. His eyes were open, fixed by the spell. Above him, a rocky ceiling and in the corner of his eyes, a flash of something scaled and clawed, a repulsive shadow the in the half-light of the cave

"You're lying to me, slave."

He heard a crack and a faint cry. Laird was in trouble. Damn. But this spell...

She's a red robe, he told himself. You're a black robe. You should be able to unpick this spell easily. Why are you still lying here?

He reached out with his magical senses, testing the bindings around him. The were strong, yes, and neatly woven but...there. A tiny flaw in the pattern. He drew up his magic like the head of a spear, glitteringly black and sleek, and smashed the spell into pieces.

Numair slid off the stone onto his feet in time to see a narrow head snap towards him, then a clawed foot knocked him into the air and onto his back.

He hit the ground with a painful crunch, cursing every god existing. Curse the creature, he would—

Its tail lashed down and he rolled sideways, under the scant shelter of the table. Spell, spell, spell...

"Come out, mage," it screamed. He saw its head bob down to glare at him with its three eyes. "I can *seeeee* you!"

Great. Not only all-powerful but totally insane too. Ozorne with scales.

Fire exploded from his hands, flicking out at the creature like shining whips. It screamed and recoiled, one eye gone.

He could just see Laird, a slumped heap on the floor. He black hair was sprawled over her face like a mourning shroud. A shroud...that was what they would both be wearing if he didn't get rid of this creature. But he couldn't try any titanic spells, not in this space, not with other mages imprisoned who knew where. 

He edged out from the stone table, over to Laird and shook her. She moaned softly, and sat up, her face a mess. Its claws had raked her from temple to chin, narrowly missing her eyes. "Can you fight?"

She didn't answer but looked over his shoulder and in her black eyes, he saw the answer...

The Arachon, leaping like a cat with its talons outstretched and ready to rip the life from them both—

She moved faster than his eye could catch, pushing him sideways and following in one of the acrobatic leaps she had begged for coin with when they had both been surviving on the streets. 

It had been intending them to land on them. But with nothing to grab hold of, the Arachon missed the floor completely and hit the opposite wall with a resounding crack.

"Goddess, Goddess, Goddess," Laird kept saying under her breath. She was rubbing at the mess of her face abstractedly. "it's going to *kill* me, Arram, it *will*."

It was beginning to pick itself up, long slender legs pushing up the weight.

"Not if we kill it first," he said tightly, running through the spells he could use. No point in turning it into a tree. The spell needed soil to work. Opening the ground might drop them into the chasm too. Calling down a firestorm...no, he had no urge to be a tasty char-grilled mage. Damn, damn, damn!

"How?" Laird hissed hysterically. "Turn it into a pumpkin?"

Its head was lifting, the remaining two eyes fixing on them with a crazed glare. It had begun chittering like a cricket, slowly standing. One clawed foot moving forward. The next. Step after step, getting faster and faster, slinking forward like a dragon...

And it hit him.

Numair pointed at it and screamed the words which flew into his head.

There was a dazzling flash of black fire shot with silver, and a sound like thousand glasses smashing against a wall.

When the sunspots had disappeared from his eyes, the Arachon was gone. And in its place...

A very surprised dragon.

"Numair?" Laird said in a hushed voice, clinging onto his arm. "What did you do?"

The dragon looked at him, its vast turquoise eyes sparkling. ~ My question exactly. ~

****

Andrea looked around. Still the same carnage, the soft and shocked silence of the people who wandered among the bodies of the dead. She saw one girl turn her face away as she glimpsed a child cut near in two. Children and wives and fathers, all made equal by the slice of a sword.

"Well," she said calmly, looking down at the body by her feet. "That's you."

Ryan glanced down too, as his own lifeless form. "Aye." Andrea wondered how his own face looked to him; even in repose, there was an aristocratic tilt to his features, the shock of dark hair stark against his too-pale skin. The scar that had once cut across his face was gone somehow, and the vivid eyes were hidden. 

"So much for restin' in peace," he said ruefully. He scuffed his feet, though they left no mark on the ground. "Well...I guess I'll be seein' you."

"I hope so," she said with a sigh. She knew what she had to go back to; pain, and torture, and the lizard face of a monster with three eyes and no heart. She put a hand on his arm, startled at herself. "Please...come and help me. I don't think I can get out of there on my own."

The grey eyes met hers, clear and full of faith. "I will, lass. I owe you."

There was a shimmering silver cord attached from his foot to his body. Ryan glanced at it then reached down and wrapped a hand around the cord. It seemed more instinct than anything.

He disappeared. 

Alarmed, Andrea looked around. "Ryan?"

Then below, she saw his hand twitch, saw him take a deep breath and then his eyelids lifted slowly. She knew he couldn't see her, but she heard the cool wind of his voice.

~ Thanks. ~

****

A scant half hour after Neal had left, evening found Pip on the castle parapets with a bow in her hand and a quiver slung across her back, out of the impractical dress and in shirt and breeches. Other women lined the walls, but to Pip's surprise, few nobles among them.

"We're lonely up here, ma'am," she remarked to the Queen, who looked forbidding with her black hair drawn back and a sword slung over her hip. Her bow rested on the walls. 

Thayet's hazel eyes twinkled gently. "The blue blood seems to be too weak for fighting, Pip. And you don't need to call me ma'am – we're informal up here."

Pip snorted, keeping her eyes to the sky. With so many knights flooding from the castle, immortals would soon be pouring in. "You mean those idiots are too afraid."

"They haven't had the training we have. You forget, most families prefer their daughters to be gentle, fragile creatures."

She had to grin. Her father had put a bow in her hand at five, a knife at eight and she had been fortunate enough to meet a Shang Master for a brief two weeks at the age of twelve. "Useless."

"For anything but marriage, alas," the Queen agreed. She sighed. "Ever since Jon told Kally she couldn't be a page, she's gone down that road."

Sure enough, Princess Kalasin was nowhere to be seen. "Why?"

Thayet arched her black eyebrows. "Oh, she's as stubborn as Jon. Wretched child, why couldn't she have had his face and *my* temperament?"

Privately Pip thought that the result would have been the same. King and Queen were equally stubborn.

"She's decided that if she makes herself into one of those cloying, revolting courtiers who flutter around like headless chickens, he'll give in and let her learn. It's not that she isn't prepared to marry, she just wants to fill up the time usefully until she does so."

"Sounds sensible to me," Pip said. What that a dot in the sky? She narrowed her eyes, leaning out over the wall.

"It is," Thayet agreed abstractedly. She too had spotted the moving black spot. "But it is *not* practical for her to train as a knight! She would be eighteen before she was done, and then bound to the realm. Her marriage is planned for her sixteenth birthday."

Pip flinched inwardly. Her father had planned her marriage for sixteen, but in the end her betrothed had refused her because she was too 'unladylike'. Still, he had regretted that when she blacked his eye for it.

As the black circle loomed, she forgot that. It was not one speck, but many.

Thayet straightened, her face paling. "Hurroks!" she cried. "Archers ready!"

There was frantic activity as Riders and nobles alike fitted arrows to their bows, mages muttered the first words of spells and rainbow fires leapt up all around.

Pip waited.

****

Ryan blinked sleepily. Moaning Mithros, his head *hurt*. With a groan, he sat up, rubbing at his temples.

Someone screamed.

He looked up, and there was a girl, an archer from the guards on her wrist, staring at him and shrieking fit to wake the dead. He grinned at the thought.

"You...you..." she babbled. Her doe-brown eyes were huge with fear.

"Vanya?" another voice said. It was a young woman he didn't know, with sea-green eyes and freckles dusting her elfin face. "What are you yowling about?" 

The archer pointed a shaking finger at Ryan. "He...he was *dead*."

The woman followed her hand. Ryan smiled sheepishly at her and got to his feet lightly, wincing as muscles complained. "He looks quite lively to me."

"No, she's right," he put in, before the red-headed archer fired an arrow at him to prove her point. Though her hands were shaking so much, he doubted it would hit him. "I was dead. I got a reprieve."

"Hmmm." The woman eyed him suspiciously. "Do you have a name, boy?"

"Yes." If she wanted his name, she could damn well ask. And where was Kel? Ryan remembered her fighting right beside him, and then there had been the pain of the axe and...nothing.

The woman's voice sharpened. "And it is?"

"Ryan Talver." He eyed her impassive face. "Thief an' mage apprentice at your service. An' who are you?"

The woman blinked, startled at the question. "Miri, commander of the Fifth Riders. Are you one of Master Salmalin's?"

"Aye," he said. "I was travellin' with some people...a squire, Kel...I mean, Keladry of Mindelan. And some Court bint."

Miri's face became grave. "Keladry was injured. I'm afraid she—"

His heart went cold. Kel? Hurt? He looked around frantically, scanning the scene. The road, strewn with bodies, and the woodland thick and green all around, but all so still. Then he saw the healer, sitting with blue fire smouldering around, futilely trying to heal a girl whose face he knew far too well.

Miri was left gaping as the streetboy strode past her, a curious kind of pain in his face.

****

"He's obviously not here," Joren finally observed lazily. The blond boy cast a languid eye about the spot where they had met Numair Salmalin. "As far as I know, he's not known for playing hide-and-seek. Or shall I count to ten in a loud voice and hope?"

Cleon was counting to ten under his breath to try and restrain himself from hitting Joren. His snide comments were getting on his sole remaining nerve. 

"Well, where can he have gone?" he demanded. Empty road, empty sky, only the chill of winter beating down on them. "He's a mage!"

Joren shrugged. "Mindelan," he pointed out coolly. "Is supposed to be a squire. Look what happened to her."

Cleon glared at him fiercely, starting to see red as his hair. "They don't train us to fight rabid shapeshifters."

"Oh, I don't know," Joren mused. "Lord Wyldon certainly comes close. He goes quite apoplectic if you miss a strike." He yawned. "Should we wend our way back, then? Break the news that the realm's greatest maze seems to have all the directional ability of a dead snail?"

"Something might have happened to him," Cleon said anxiously. There wasn't even a trace of footsteps. But...he stepped over to the thin grass of the verge and stared at the marks there.

"Well," Joren continued blithely, dusting off his finery, "I would have thought that was fairly obvious. Or perhaps he's just spotted another promising mage to take advantage of."

Cleon hunkered down to examine them. They looked like bird's steps...if the bird had feet a foot and a half long. Frowning, he followed them into the woods, leaving Joren's arrogant voice far behind.

The woods were cool and dark, branches brushing his faces like Stormwing feathers. Normally he would have been on his guard for spidrens...but there were no immortals here. There was nothing, not even the thin flute of birdsong. Only a patient silence.

Someone had flattened a path through the shrubs and trees he saw. A *wide* path. Whatever it was, was at least five feet wide, and strong enough to fell a tree. And tall too. Cleon was starting to get worried...this was nothing natural. Only the grey creatures of Carthak – the elephants – measured up to this.

And suddenly, the trail stopped, in front of a sheer rock face.

Cleon frowned. Mountains were common enough in the North, but not like this. The rock was a perfectly smooth, flat grey, with only a single arch of a hairline crack running along it. No jagged edges, no overhangs, no *slope*. Just vertical cliff.

He stood back to look better. Behind him, he heard Joren's grumbling cultured voice floating nearer. This was *weird*. 

"What have you stopped *here* for?" a disgusted Joren said when he finally arrived. "Don't tell me I just dragged myself through three hundred yards of mud and trees to stare at a piece of rock."

"The path led here," he answered absently. That arch-shaped crack...could it be the outline of a doorway? He reached out and pushed the section of rock to see if it would swing open, like they always did in the old fairytales. Nothing.

"Oh *good*," Joren drawled acerbically. "And are we going to stand here waiting for enlightenment or turn around and explain that Master Salmalin has decided to do a rather convincing vanishing trick?"

Cleon turned to glare at him. "Do you *ever* shut up?"

Joren's blue eyes were cool as ice-comets. "Not when I have good reason to complain." He reached out and slapped the rockface. "Look. It's *stone*. It's not going anywhere—"

But Cleon wasn't listening. He could see a faint indentation in the rock now, just to the left of the arch. It looked like a *hand*. Very faint, you wouldn't notice it if you weren't looking closely. Cautiously, he placed his palm in the indentation and—

The arch swung inwards silently. 

For the first time in two hours, Joren shut up.

****

She looked so small.

That was all Ryan could think, and it just kept spinning round and round and round his head. This was Kel, who fought spidrens and noblewomen with equal vigour, who was fierce without cruelty and no, not perfect but still...somehow his.

"It's no use," the healer was saying to a tall, gaunt man. He had to be a relative of Kel's; though his face was older and harder, the pensive eyes were the same, and the determined mouth. "I'm sorry, Sir Inness..."

The man turned away sharply, putting a hand over his eyes. 

"Can I try?" Ryan asked quietly. He wouldn't give up. Andrea had brought him back from the *dead*.

The healer's look had a touch of scorn, though his voice was sad. "You're just a boy. Lad, I'm telling you, we've lost this one. It...it happens."

"Not to my friends," Ryan snapped angrily. The healer opened his mouth to say something, but then the Rider girl, Miri, called to him.

"Curio, he's one of Numair's. Let him try." There the ghost of a smile of her face. "After all, he's just come back from the dead."

Bemused, the healer obeyed. Ryan knelt down, putting his hands to Kel's temples as he had seen the healers do so often.

He didn't know how to heal. But he knew someone who did.

~ Andrea? ~ he called in his mind. He could feel the power that bound them; it was as though they were two people on either side of a door. All he had to do was open it. ~ Are you there? Are you okay? ~

~ I'm here. ~ He could sense her beyond that door, a soft golden presence. ~ The Arachon gave up on me. Threw me back in the cells. ~ Concern...he could sense what she was feeling, and she had to be able to do the same. ~ You need help? ~

~ I need to heal, ~ he said hopelessly. ~ My friend, she's hurt. Can you tell me how? ~

~ Of course...just listen to what I tell you. ~

He listened to her sunlit voice, a warmth and light in the bleakness of his situation, and gently sank magic into Kel, searching for the flicker of fire inside her that would mean she was alive. Around him, her blood swishing weakly, the slowing thud of her heartbeat...and then he saw it.

Just a glint of copper, same as the highlights in her hair and the flecks in her eyes, but it was there. He flooded magic and energy into that spark until it flared up, and like a flower unfolding, he could hear scraps of Kel's thoughts as she woke back up.

~ She'll be fine now, ~ Andrea said, satisfied. But there was sadness in her voice too.

~ You sound upset, ~ he remarked.

Her embarrassment, like a deer frozen in firelight. ~ Oh...you just seem so close. I've...never had a friend. ~

~ We're friends! ~ he said indignantly.

~ We are? ~

~ Hate to tell you, but ordinary people don't save each other's lives and talk like this. ~

~ But we're bound, ~ she said feebly.

Half his mind on healing, Ryan snorted. ~ Don't go all noble-witted on me, girl. You ain't ever had much chance to make friends. But you'll see...it'll be different from now. You ain't goin' to be alone. ~

He heard her laugh, and wondered at her next words. ~ I'm not alone now...I think...maybe I do have friends. I just didn't know. ~

But he forgot her words as Kel opened her eyes.

****

"Ah," Numair said weakly. "Hello."

The dragon glared. ~ What do you mean 'hello'? Mortal, I was in the middle of an exquisite meal in the Dragonrealms. Why did you bring me here? ~

The mage squirmed. "I didn't so much...bring you here, as send something else there. I just didn't anticipate I'd bring back anything living."

~ Oh *didn't you*? ~ the reptile said icily. It was at least thirty feet long, much larger than the Arachon, and in the narrow cave it was, to say the least, snug. Its scales were a deep shade of green, catching blue highlights in the sole unscathed torch. ~ Well, I'm alive, mage! ~

"I can see that," he answered, trying to think of any spells that could give the dragon more room.

~ What did you send back? Insolent wretch, ~ it muttered resentfully, stretching out. 

He wasn't sure he wanted to tell it. Dragons and Arachons were notorious for their hatred of one another, despite the fact the Arachon was part-dragon. "An Arachon."

~ Ah. Dessert. Very nice those, just a touch crunchy. ~ Its nostrils flared as the head snaked forward to sniff at them. ~ You're lucky. Jewelclaw was next to me and he has *far* less patience with you fumbling magic-wielders. If you'd got him, you'd be seeing the business end of a massacre right about now. ~

"I know." He remembered the tetchy dragon. "I've met him."

~ Oh, you're *that* mage. ~ The dragon flicked its tail and the wall crumbled into powder. ~ That's better. So *cramped* in here. And what about you, little red robe? I see you have that monster's marks on you. ~

"I was its slave," Laird said in a small voice. She had backed away from the dragon, ignoring her bleeding face. "My own fault. Are you...going to eat us?"

There was still a lot of the scared commoner in her, Numair realised. She might have aged, and changed her clothes from filthy to scarlet, but underneath, she was still Laird y Sanra. 

The dragon gave a snort of amusement. ~ I like mortals, ~ it declared, then its head darted forward on the long neck. ~ In gravy. ~

Laird gasped and leapt back.

~ Sorry, ~ the dragon added. ~ Just my little joke. ~

"I haven't met many dragons that joke," Numair murmured.

It rattled its claws on the stone. ~ I'm unique. That's why they named me Jademirth. If you don't mind, I shall wait outside of these dingy caves. And then, mage, we shall discuss etiquette. Specifically when it is considered sporting to remove a dragon from his homeland. ~

"Certainly," Numair said politely. "And perhaps we shall also discuss when it is appropriate to make jokes about devouring people."

He fancied he heard a touch of respect in the dragon's voice before it rippled out. ~ Hmmph. ~

****

Cleon crept quietly down the passageway, each step slow and sure. He and Joren had decided not to take a light; although they couldn't see anything, it meant no one could see them either. 

They had argued for a near an hour over whether to go back and get help or not. But the others were a half hour's ride back to the village on their weary horses, and double that walking. But in the end, curiosity and valour had won out.

The passageway was twisting and turning, just large enough for a man, but not for the thing which had wrenched its way through the forest. The light of the doorway was far behind now as they moved deeper into the black heart of the caves. They could have walked past a thousand turnings for all he knew.

A sound from behind, like a hammer on stone.

"What was *that*?" Joren hissed.

"How am I supposed to know?" 

"Women's intuition?" the squire suggested coolly. 

Cleon decided not to warn him about the jagged rock he had so nearly tripped over. There was an 'oomph' behind him, and Joren saying words which were certainly not going to win him favour with any of the Court ladies he was so often ringed by. 

He turned a tight corner and had to shield his eyes daylight dazzled him. He blinked, waiting for his vision to clear, and found himself in a vaguely rectangular room with doors on the other three sides and two torches at the sides of each. Above, no ceiling but the sky, endlessly azure, and the surrounding mountains like jagged grey teeth.

"What's this then?" Joren remarked idly as he strolled in.

Cleon shrugged and examined the closest door. Nothing magical about it, just a sturdy bar over the door and the usual runes that meant while anyone could open the door from the outside, from the inside nothing could pass.

He opened it.

He wasn't prepared for the horror that lay within.

****

Well! A little longer than usual to make up for the wait – I am truly, truly sorry – I hope you enjoyed :-) Please tell me if you did; please tell me if you didn't. I'd love to hear your thoughts, comments, opinions…all welcomed with open arms, heart and mind. 

So huge, huge, huge thanks to everyone who reviewed last time round – it was an absolute joy hearing what you had to say! You're all wonderful, special, fabulous and perfect angels! Thank you to:

The awesome Aquilla: Oh, Squire is out **so** soon…I'm dying to read it. I've heard so much stuff about what's going to happen in it…aaaargh...you must be right about exams. I have a whole bunch of them soon. (Oh gods. A month and a half until the real things. I think it's time to start panicking). I loved that drawing of Atalssa and Ralf! Can I put it on my site, please? :;beams:; Oh, read the Nightworld books! L.J. Smith is such a great writer! Thanks!

The astounding Arial: Thanks so much :-) I hoping to get published when I'm older...I love writing. Soon…uh…not quite, but this part's pretty long to make up for it! I've only just read the CoM books (I got round to it, finally.) Ryan isn't based on Briar, but I see the similarities. ::shrug:: But I see some differences too, I hope! My inspiration? Hmm...I wanted to find out what writing a TP fanfic would be like – I've written a lot of LJ Smith fanfic (she rocks, BTW), but I've never tried TP's world. As it is, the story's pretty rough and ready at the moment, but hopefully the next one will be a lot smoother. I also know what's going to happen in it, which helps! (There is going to be a sequel ::wince:: It's a bad habit of mine.) Thanks!

The amazing Arturo: Well, so much for writing the next chapter really soon ::guilty look:: But it is a little longer than usual to make up for it! Pip and Neal...I was wavering over, but it just didn't go anywhere.Thank you so much!

The captivating Cass: Hiya, and thank you! I'm thrilled you like it – it's a joy to write, and a learning curve. Ryan's fun. He's a little based on a certain someone I know (who's an absolute fiend.), but I never expected him to feature this much in the story.

The cherished Chip: Hiya! ::grins: Thanks – it's great that you like the story (I have a lot of fun writing it) and please tell you friend thank you from me! Kel and Ryan…heh heh…I reserve the right to be deeply and utterly evil.

The dazzling Daine: That Arachon will get just what it deserves :-) Sadly, lightning only splintered the metaphorical and mental world. It's still out there, getting its wicked way! France was fun :-) I love the food there. Most of it. J And the wine.

The divine Danel: Thanks :-) I always have a lot of fun writing this. It's one of my escapes from reality. Hey, if you do think of anything to improve it, scream! (Thanks for the Fred&George thing, I'm working on that.)

The delightful Dead Flower: I couldn't kill them :-) My heart just wasn't in it! And besides ::evil laugh:: I have Plans….of a serial nature...

The delectable Dee: Hey, I know what it is to be swamped by exams! I'm about to experience it myself! ::grins:: I never expect reviews…just be really happy when I get them! That way it's such a great surprise! Girl, you have **got **to read the books! They're wicked! I'm working on Andrea :-) Ryan's been having all the fun. Laird is the mage who, earlier in the story, clonked Andrea over the head and carried her off to the monster. Hint? Moi? Never!

The excellent Eviltama: Thank you very much :-) I'm sure you can write like that! 'Sides I write too much (three years and I've done s*d all homework.) Thanks!

The gorgeous Gwyn: I was tempted...but neal and Pip didn't work :-) She's interested in someone else and so's he. Always a bad start. ::grins:: Hmm...let's see how that stumbling goes! Thank you!

The heavenly Harkly: Jerry Springer for characters? That could be fun…I can't really see Kel yelling at Uline (Yo, bitch, you stole my man!) and smashing a chair over anyone's head...I'm in the coolies zone? ::brightens:: Thanks! Long may you enjoy.

The incredible Ivy Leaves: Hallo, and thank you very much! ::grins:: You may see me wearing a Newberry Medal, but it'll be because I'm running at high speed away from some unconscious Newberry winner and holding a big crowbar. But hey, I can dream, right? :-)

The jocose Jenn: Thank you muchly – sorry that it has been such a horribly long wait! I have however, gotten busy in the past few days and done some more of the story, so hopefully the wait will not be *too* long for Part Eighteen. (The story, is well over halfway through now…I'm aiming to stop before Part Twenty Five. Though I have the sinking feeling this is but one of a series...)

The cracking Karalea: I can't kill Kel – that would really screw up the story! All men are fools :-) it's a given (no, I'm kidding.) Numair…ah, well, you may well be right there...though it may not show for a while...Ryan and Adnrea do have pretty phenomenal world splitting powers! But hey, we'll see :-) Thanks!

The kosher Katya: Hi! There will be a Hanging On 2 (as such), soon as I'm done with this one. It'll probably centre more around the palace and the problem to come. Hey, thanks for passing it round :-) I'm totally elated that your friends like it! (tell them thanks from me). I'm a Jk Rowling fan J I haven't read Philip Pullman yet, I keep meaning to (I'm still going through Stephen King at the mo). Thank you so much...sorry this was a little alter than I said, but I couldn't get on on Monday.

The kickass Kitkat: Alas, the Arachon must have gotten lost on the way to my house J But thank you, I have got the next part written at last! 

The lovely Lady: I'm back on chocolate now, with a vengeance! I'm working on the story, it's getting places. I know the last couple of parts weren't heowge on the excitement factor. There is a *lot* more in this chapter. ::grins:; Nah, I don't mind criticism – I've never had any that's been unfair yet. If it serves to give me a good kick in the hiney, it's worthwhile. Thanks!

The lively Leap: My school did that, but I didn't pay up so they cut off my addy and I'm stuck (oh horrors!) with my hotmail one :-) Tell me if I make any huge out of character shifts. :-) Ta!

The luminous Leevee: Moi? Kill kel? Well…no…because that would really knacker any chance of being remotely c0onnectable to the TP books. (Squire's out soooo soon!) And I also don't want to end up in the Realms myself – well, not yet! Thanks!

The outstanding Orenda: Well, some people can carry of bald, and some people can't. :-) Obviously, you can! Gods, has it really been five weeks? (Mental count…) Nope. Only three. ::cough:: Only…umm...yes…guilty.

The superb Shannon Cooper: France was fabulous, thank you muchly. Hey, I'm not picky about adjectives :-) I swear, the characters write themselves. There must be some sort of parallel universe where they exist...thanks!

The superlative Sparrow: Which twist? I've lost track now (this is never a good sign.) Pip is out of the running with Neal, but in the running with someone else. ::grins:; Thanking people's isn't an effort. It's fun.

The splendid Sulia Serafine: Apparently, to go OT, Serafine means 'ardent' in another language :o) Fact for the day! Nah, I couldn't see Pip or Neal together...but I can see Pip with someone and I may well have fun with this in the next story (I've resigned myself to the fact that there's going to be a next one. Once I start writing I can't stop.) Thanks!

The terrific Tatra: Hiya! Well, okay, so much for the soon thing, but it is a helluva lot longer than usual so hopefully that'll make up for it some! I couldn't kill Ryan…yet…thanks!

The elusive :o): Ryan has gone back :-) I couldn't kill him – I was getting attached to him! (Though this has not stopped me before.) What does the Arachon want with Numair? Power ::mwahahaha::. ! Pure power! Well, it ain't what anyone could call soon, but I have written more! Cheers!

   [1]: mailto:kiananw@hotmail.com
   [2]: http://www.firesandflowers.cjb.net/



	18. Hurroks, Horrors and Hardiness

Sorry this took so long – I have had mocks (all of which I passed, yay) but my exam leave starts end of next week so I will ha

Sorry this took so long – I have had mocks (all of which I passed, yay) but my exam leave starts end of next week so I will have lots of time to revise, otherwise known as: write. Thank you all for your patience – you are angels – and I hope you enjoy!

Commets are adored, pored over, adulated, venerated, revered, cheered and cherished. I love hearing what you think about the story; I can hack criticism, so that's welcome! Thoughts, comments, opinions – I'd love to know.

Hugs n' honey,

Ki

Hanging On Part Eighteen

It was the stench that got to him.

Cleon wanted to vomit. It was rank, a sickly sweet scent that he knew too well, and wished he didn't. The room was dark lit, and for that he was glad. He knew what it was; a torture chamber. He had heard of them – supposedly, there had been one in the palace once, in the reign of Francis the Cruel – but never thought he'd live to see one.

He had been wrong.

"Hello?" he called, surprised at how his voice quivered. "Is anyone...alive in there?"

Don't let there be, he prayed. Don't make me go down in there. Some things should remain locked in darkness.

There was only silence. He saw no movement from the figures – some only skeletons – chained to the wall, to the strange devices, scattered on the floor.

He slammed the door shut and leaned back against it. 

"What was it?" Joren inquired coolly. "Was there a mirror in there?"

"It was a torture chamber," Cleon said hollowly. He didn't even have the energy to be annoyed by Joren's sarcasm. "A used one."

A second miracle; Joren held his peace, and his mouth narrowed into the stubborn lines that usually meant someone was about to get a good kicking. "We'd better check the others then," he said with more determination than Cleon would have credited him with. 

"Yeah," he echoed, and made himself walk over to the next door as Joren pulled it open, squinting down into the darkness. I'm a knight, he told himself. Or...I will be. I'll see worse than this.

There was movement.

His heart went stone cold inside his chest, and Cleon swallowed hard. He didn't pray much, but over the last day, he had seemed to do nothing else. 

"Hello?" he called into the shadowy mass. One step in, and the icy shell around his heart seemed to shrink and contract until he could barely breathe. 

Something ran out of the darkness at him, and Cleon nearly yelled and leapt back, until he realised the creature was only a few feet high, and before it reached him, it stumbled and fell, and then cried out in a voice that was sweet and childlike. 

Cleon instinctively picked the beastling up – he'd five brothers and sisters back home, and he had gotten used to comforting them – and discovered it was a child, a dirt-smeared, sniffling girl who stared at him like he was a dragon or a unicorn.

"Gods be good," Joren drawled, stepping delicately into the room. "Don't they believe in soap? Or light?"

"It's a dungeon," a dry voice said. It sounded vaguely familiar to Cleon...but he dismissed it as the child suddenly squirmed and yowled to be put down. "They tend to go heavy on the stone and dark."

Joren blinked, clearly startled. He looked utterly out of place in his fine clothes, clean and cool as a sculpture cut from sapphire. "Are you planning to skulk in the shadows forever?"

Cleon found his eyes adjusting to the dark, and he could see a shape huddled in one corner. The little girl had run over to it – no, he corrected, the voice had been masculine, *him* - and was curled protectively in the boy's arms, her eyes doe-brown, soft and wary.

"My skulking days are long gone," the boy said, but there was no trace of self-pity in his voice, simply factual acceptance. "I'm a cripple, I'm afraid. I suppose you were hoping for a fair and scantily clad maiden, but I'll have to do. Oh wise and handsome rescuers etcetera, etcetera."

Joren scowled, his full mouth quivering dangerously near a pout. "You could be a bit more polite. Do you have a name?"

"Yes." 

Joren went an interesting shade of purple as the boy didn't offer any more information. It was clear he had expected a little more fawning, gratitude and general showering of praises. 

Cleon cut in before Joren started being petty. "I'm Cleon of Kennan, and this is Joren of Stone Mountain. We're squires of Tortall. We stumbled on here by accident."

"Cleon of Kennan?" There was sudden sharp interest in the boy's voice. There was an odd scraping sound, and then Cleon realised the boy was dragging himself into the thin grey rectangle of light that the sole window – though it was more a gaping hole – threw onto the floor.

The boy, he realised, looked somehow scarily familiar. But his eyes chilled Cleon. They were black as the secret depths of night, falling away into infinity like dual wells, and haunted. 

"Yes," he said finally. "It's a western barony...do you know it?"

The boy gave a short, husky laugh. "Know it? I was born there." 

Suddenly the odd sense of déjà vu fell into place. The slanting cheekbones, they were the inheritance of his mother that Cleon alone of the family seemed to have missed. The arching nose, the proud set of the face that meant stubbornness to the bone. And of course, the famous Kennan hair, red as sunset and with a temper to shatter worlds.

"I'm Marcus of Kennan," the boy murmured. 

"Oh gods," Joren moaned. The blond squire looked disgusted. "I feel a tender reconciliation coming on."

****

Kel felt the odd drowsiness that had overtaken her recede slowly, like water draining into the ground. When she opened her eyes, the light shredded her vision into golden strips, making her wince and shield her eyes.

The first thing she saw was Ryan.

Well, that was a good start. His eyes were the soft, pure colour of silver silk, and peering down at her with worry. That was his hands, gentle on her temples, moving to lift her to a sitting position.

"Why was I lying down?" she asked, startled at how rusty her voice sounded. She couldn't have been out more than a minute or two.

"You were takin' a short rest," he said quietly. "In peace."

"Eh?" It wasn't the most intelligent response ever, but it was all she could manage. Was he saying she'd *died*? "Let me up," Kel insisted. The world would be a saner place once she was standing again, once she had weapons. 

"You might be a bit unsteady," the streetboy warned, but there was relief written all over him. She let him support her, help she probably wouldn't have accepted from many other people. "Death really takes it out of you."

Kel snorted, her face focused on ignoring the watery weakness in her body. "It's a rare day when it gives anything back."

"Well, ain't you lucky I was here?" he said brightly, letting go off her. "Reckon your brother might be glad to see you."

Her brother? Conal? Anders? Inness? Why would any of them be here?

Her memories of the moments before she had collapsed flooded back. Of course. The shapeshifters. The creatures who had stolen wild magic...

She looked around her then, and was horrified by what she saw. Bodies. There had obviously been am massive fight and *this* was the result. Kel looked at Ryan, aghast, and saw the answer in his pale face.

"Not all of 'em," he said. "I heard them Riders talkin', an' they said the main one...Bruna's da, he escaped."

"Kel?" 

She turned and saw Inness, his eyes wide and for once, lacking the dreaminess they usually had. "You're...all right?" he asked doubtfully.

"Well, you don't have to sound so pleased about it," she said dryly. The look on his face said that she most definitely had been dead. This was...unnerving. She didn't know if the Yamanis had any method for dealing with this kind of thing.

He began to smile slowly, but she still saw fear in his eyes. That hurt. Her brother, the glorious knight, was afraid of *her*. His kid sister. "I am," he said, but sounded uncertain. "It's just..."

She tried to look impassive. Ryan was a reassuring presence nearby, and one swift glance over her shoulder showed the usual wicked sparkle in his eyes. Some things didn't change.

"No one could survive a blow like that," her brother muttered. He bit his lip, looking anywhere but at her. Even looking at those poor pitiful bodies. "Kel...I don't know how that streetboy brought you back but...I don't know if was white magic."

"It was," Ryan said shortly. "You got a problem with it, you can go an' take it up with the Goddess an' Mithros. An' they can be tetchy."

"You spoke to the gods?" her brother said, his hazel eyes widening so she could see the tiny flecks of gold in them, like honey had spattered into his irises.

"Argued, more like," Ryan agreed.

Inness opened and closed his mouth a few times, apparently lost for words.

"There's a river nearby if you want to carry on doing a fish impression, Inness," the amused voice of a young woman said. Kel recognised her as the captain of the Fifth Riders, Miri. "Well, Squire Keladry, it's good to see you up and about. I hope you're completely healed because we've got problems ahead."

"Problems?" she echoed, feeling rather lost. She had been...gone...a couple of hours, and it seemed like the world had been toppled onto its side.

"The leader of these creatures got away," the woman explained briskly. A few cuts marred her freckled skin. 

The leader...a silver slice of memory leapt into her head. The man, with his cold and barren voice, the voice of a noble.

Bruna's father.

"I know who he is," she said.

The reaction was electric. Heads snapped round, and Miri's eyes lit up like a pair of stars burning green. "Who?"

"He's Lady Bruna of Farbrook's father." She looked around for the noblewoman and saw her, a huddle of silk and blood on the floor. She swallowed. "Is she...?"

"Unconscious," the healer by her answered, his hands to her temples. "Lord Vernon of Farbrook? I'd heard, but..."

"We've all heard about him," Inness stated flatly. His shock was replaced by a hardness Kel didn't like. There was a very empty coldness in his eyes...would she be like that one day? Was that what being a knight truly meant? "None of us believed the rumours."

"More fool us," Miri murmured. "Riders, we're splitting in two." Her sea-green eyes fixed Kel, flecks of turquoise swimming in their depths. "Keladry, you and your friends will remain here – if you feel up to it, set up a camp. We've been told the King is riding to meet us, with as many knights as he can summon. They will be here in a matter of days. Our healers will stay with you."

She turned back to the rest of her company. "We'll start sweeping the area," she said clearly. "Stay in pairs, don't go off alone. We *do* know what's out there, and you can all see how dangerous it is. I can't ask our streetboy here to bring you all back from the dead. Sir Inness, Sir Paxton, will you ride with us?"

Her brother nodded and the elderly knight who had been stranded off to one side gave a short bark of an affirmative 

"Kel, if you see Joren and Cleon, let them know where we've gone," her brother said. His gaze was affectionate. "Try not to die again. I've had enough shocks for one day."

Cleon was here? Kel felt much better knowing that – and she wanted her big friend to meet Ryan. She felt sure they'd get on. But as for Joren...well, if she had to put up with him to talk to Cleon – someone else who *knew* what being a squire *meant* - she could live with it.

And she could *live*, more importantly.

****

As soon as the cry came, Pip was drawing back her bow, sighting along the arrow at the dots growing bigger. A cold mass quivered in her stomach, but she ignored it. She would *not* go to pieces. That was not the ha Minch way.

The hurroks loomed, closer and closer, until she saw the sunlight flashing silver off their claws, sliding along their matted coats, saw the glint of teeth.

"Archers!" the Queen shouted beside Pip, her own bow drawn and her face fierce, "Loose on my word!"

They waited, waited, waited, Pip wanting to scream with the fear. The Queen was leaving this lethally late; the shrill battlecry of the hurroks pierced her ears as they blocked out the blue sky—

"Fire!"

The rain of arrows was fatally close. Hurroks crashed onto the battlements below with a volley of resounding thumps as Pip frantically restrung her bow and spun, seeking a new target. There were too many to choose from – she hadn't even known this many hurroks *existed* in the Mortal Realms, had the gods somehow missed them?

Then she saw something drop from a hurrok's back, something squat and man-shaped. It wore rusted armour, and as it spun, its eyes fixed on Pip. She felt her face go cold, and she began to unconsciously back away.

It followed, oddly graceful for something so stocky. Long dirty-grey hair trailed from its head and back, and as Pip stared at it, she realised it was moving of its own accord. 

No. The creature's hair was made of snakes.

A gorgon. 

It was chattering something strange, sounding like a thousand angry crickets, and walking towards Pip with its eyes fixed on her. It could have been human, if not for the hair. She felt a tingle up her spine, the tingle that meant magic. 

"Leave me alone!" she screamed and loosed the arrow. Behind it, she saw more gorgons spring from the back of the winged horses as archers fought to defend themselves.

The arrow bounced off the creature like it was made of stone.

"That's not the way to handle 'em, girl!" a forceful voice bellowed in her ear. A small, wiry woman slipped past her. She must have been over forty with her curling grey hair. 

"What are you doing?" Pip cried, trying to grab her arm as the woman started towards the creature. She was going to be slaughtered! 

But somehow, the woman slithered from her grasp like smoke, running towards the gorgon. "Keep the hurroks off me!" the woman called back urgently, and as Pip watched, she *jumped* into the air, one foot uncoiling from her body as she flew towards the creature.

She's going to die, Pip thought numbly even as she reached for another arrow, fired blindly at the off-white mass of beating wings and claws that filled the stinking air. 

The woman's foot hit the gorgon right between the eyes, flinging it backwards. And while Pip strung, aimed, loosed, strung, aimed, loosed, one among dozens in the crowded press of mortal and immortal on the battlements, the small woman slammed her fist down and *through* its unprotected throat. When she ripped her hand free, it was covered in silver blood.

She's a Shang, Pip realised, unaware of how pale and set her face was, her eyes glowing like two green fires.

She stopped for a second and stared disbelievingly at the woman. Yes, her dusty jacket had faded globes on it, and she moved with the easy, fearless glide of a predator.

Pip was struck by an envy so sharp it nearly took her breath away. That was what she wanted to be. Not some unmarriageable, useless noble, but a fighter. Someone who could topple immortals.

The woman's mouth was wide, shouting words that came through to Pip dimly. "Behind you!" And she was running, but the look on her face said it was too late...

A rush of air to her left and Pip threw herself flat, tucking into a ball like Neal had taught her, rolling to her feet. She spun. Not a gorgon, but a hurrok swooping angrily. Its claws brushed the air where she had been, but murder in its wild eyes, it flew at her.

Pip didn't know what took over her. But she wasn't panicking, time had seemed to slow as if the hurrok was flying through water, and she had forever to make her decision.

Step sideways, like this, and as it slid past, catch its mane, like this, and push against the ground, feel the air skimming coldly over her skin for a moment, then pulling herself up onto its back, her arms screaming with the effort.

The world slammed back in on her.

I'm on a hurrok.

The immortal screamed furiously and tried to turn its head to snap at her. She punched it between the eyes.

I've gone insane, Pip thought. Completely, terminally crazy. 

Because she wasn't afraid, or worried, or any of the things she should be. Her mind was calm, even *enjoying* the sensation of the wind, of being in control, of fighting this savage beast that swung its body left and right in an effort to throw her off.

One of the first stunts that had landed Pip in trouble was learning to ride bareback. The hurrok was thrashing about like a stranded fish, true, but it was nothing compared to Viper, her first horse.

It was flying higher and higher in an effort to throw her off, until they were soaring above the battle. From above, the clash looked like a sea of swirling grey, mixed with flashes of colour that had to be mages, swamping the immortals with waves of fire.

"You can't get rid of me," Pip shouted at it, not knowing if it could understand. 

She had to be able to *do* something from up here. Anything.

That odd tingle again, that warned her of magic and then a voice was shouting at her furiously. ~ Phillippa ha Minch! Phillippa! ~

The speaking spell was right by her ear. She winced at the frantic voice. It was Harailt of Alii, the head mage. 

"I'm fine," she yelled as the wind snatched her words. She couldn't keep the elation out of her voice. "It's behaving."

She heard the mage take a deep breath. ~ What in the name of all gods were you *thinking* of? Do you have any plans on how to get down? ~

"Plummet five hundred feet to an almost certain death on the stones" she snapped back. But a little thread of concern was working its way into her mind. "No. Listen, Master Harailt...I can see the battle, don't try and get me down just yet."

~ I'm too busy to rescue over-ambitious noblewomen! ~ the mage shouted at her furiously. She wondered if that vein was throbbing in his forehead like Neal had said it did when he got angry. ~ The Queen ordered me to check on your health and since you are plainly fine, despite having lost all of your mental faculties— ~

She cut him off quickly, not wanting to hear the rest of the tirade as the hurrok went into a lethal plummet and her stomach dropped away. Her voice was a near shriek. "Master Harailt, in the north-west corner of the battlements, two hurroks and a gorgon have cornered a group of the trainee Riders, they've run out of arrows..."

The hurrok pulled out of the lunge and Pip sat forward so sharply she hit her head on its neck. The creature screamed, its claws slashing dangerously close to her. 

Finally it settled, and breathless, she carried on. "The Queen's got trouble, a group of hurroks about to charge her, but you've killed most of them, there's only about thirty left..."

~ I'll kill you when I get my hands on you, ~ Harailt muttered, but she could hear him calling out instructions to other mages. ~ And so will the Queen. ~

"At least she'll be alive to," Pip retorted, watching as green and yellow flares destroyed the group of hurroks. 

The hurrok nearly threw her, and she half-slid off, hanging a hundred feet above the battlements. She clung to its mane, making the immortal yowl with pain. "I go, you go with me," she screamed as she hauled herself back onto its back desperately. "If you want to get rid of me that badly, just fly down to the damn walls and I'll *jump* off!"

She was surprised when it suddenly dropped towards the walls, looming nearer and nearer until they were *feet* above the grey stone. 

Disbelieving, Pip slid from its back. "Thank you," she said shakily.

The claws slashed towards her head and she threw herself backwards, but it was far faster and it would surely—

An arrow sprouted between its eyes and with one final cry, the creature fell backwards.

"*Phillippa*..." The Queen's voice told her she was in for it. And as she turned and saw the hazel eyes simmering, and her mouth pressed tight with rage, she wished she was anywhere else. "What. On. Earth. Were. You. *Thinking*?"

"Not much," she said weakly. 

A dry laugh interrupted them. It was the Shang woman, with her hazel eyes darting with amusement. "You've the best reflexes I've seen in a while," she remarked. "If you were common-born, I'd be packing you off to study. Despite your age."

Pip flushed with pleasure. "Thank you," she said, and added wistfully, "but I don't think I could do half of what you did."

Queen Thayet was giving her an unnervingly keen glare. "Maybe it's time you did," she said thoughtfully. A wicked smile began to curl up her mouth. "Yes...I think that would curb your ability to get into such trouble. Eda?"

The Wildcat seemed to know what the Queen was talking about, though Pip was completely clueless. "I think Hakuin and I can manage an hour or two a day," she said cheerfully, looking Pip up and down. "You're not quite strong enough yet...but we'll soon cure that, girl! Hakuin!"

A short, dark-haired man approached. "What is it now, Eda?" he demanded cheerfully. A few scrapes adorned his face, but aside from that, he was untouched. This had to be the Shang Horse that Neal had pointed out to her once. 

"This young lady just tamed a hurrok," the Wildcat said. The Horse's dark eyes swung to her, his eyebrows arching into the hanks of black hair that hung over his face. "She's fast, Hakuin, and fairly strong. And this is the one our squires have been teaching – and learning – moves."

She hadn't known the entire palace knew about that. Pip wondered what other rumours were flying round the castle about her, then put that thought away as too ridiculous to be even contemplated. Last week, rumour had said that Prince Roald was in love with a peasant girl, and that Neal and his best friend – that girl squire, Keladry – were a little more than friends, which since the girl wasn't even in the palace, was patently false.

"Are you betrothed, girl?" Hakuin said.

Thayet snorted.

"No, then," the Shang muttered. "Well...her majesty would like us to begin teaching young noblewomen some of the basic moves, to occupy their time."

Thayet absently restrung her bow, scanning the sky for any further attacks. "I think my exact words were to stop them running about like headless chickens when this sort of situation occurs. Do you know, there's a good fifty young women cowering in the depths of the castle, being no good to anyone."

"But the rest of us are doing a good job!" a new voice said. Uline of Hasselhof approached, one arm in a sling and a bright smile on her face. "Pippa, were you scared? I saw you on that hurrok and my heart was in my mouth!"

Pip smiled at her brother's fiancé. "I didn't have time to be terrified."

"You should make time," the Wildcat said coolly. "Fear stops us acting rashly. Your scheme will be useful for the over-adventurous as well as the under-adventurous, Thayet."

"What's this?" Uline looked from one face to the other. "Your majesty, may I go along too? I'm sure Pippa would like the company."

Thayet shook her dark head. "Uline, I intended this as punishment for Phillippa. But you may certainly join the Shangs for training once they have worked out a suitable routine with Lady ha Minch."

As Pip looked at the wicked smile of Hakuin, and the stern twinkle in the Wildcat's eyes, she knew this was going to be a painful experience.

****

The fire glowing above Laird and Numair's heads lit their way as they crept from the shattered remains of what Laird referred as the torture room, in her hushed voice. 

"Where are the prisoners kept?" he asked, giving the light-spell a little nudge to keep it floating ahead of them. "How many are there?"

The woman beside him shivered. He noticed now how pinched and gaunt her face was, as if she hadn't changed at all from that skinny street girl he had first encountered years ago. A red robe covered her physical scars, but her suffering stood out in her slanted black eyes. 

"Three now," she said quietly. "Not including myself. Your girl...she needs a healer, Arram. It tore her to pieces last time. I'm powerful, but my magic is useless to heal. The other two – a boy named Marcus. He was noble, afore it took him."

"What province?" Numair asked, racking his brains to think of any nobles who had been kidnapped.

"Kennan."

Ah. He remembered now. It had been shortly after he first came to Tortall: the child had been a horror, what Jonathan had dryly described as Roger of Conte on something highly unlawful. He had stormed off one day, and never returned.

"Marcus of Kennan?" he inquired.

"The same."

Well, he hoped the attitude had changed. Laird took him down a long, twisting tunnel, and the tall mage cracked his head on the ceiling several times, usually just after Laird told him to mind his head. Finally, they came out into a long rectangular room.

Laird gasped, and he saw why at once. The central door was open, and Numair hastily called a spell to mind, ready to incinerate anyone who even thought about attacking him. "Who goes there?" he shouted.

From in the dark deeps, he heard a witheringly scathing voice. "Queen Thayet and her Court, who do you think?"

"Shut up, Joren," he heard another voice say, and a face appeared. It was Cleon of Kennan, and he was rather pale. "Master Salmalin? Sorry...Joren didn't know it was you. We found some prisoners..."

"Three?" Laird asked urgently, her black eyes leaping.

The boy nodded.

She sighed in relief. "They're all save. Gods be blessed." She clutched at Numair's arm. "Arram, the girl is in there. And there's a child too, belonged to some gypsies that the Arachon...disposed of."

He nodded, thoroughly relieved. They had found the girl...the boy was safe.

And so was the kingdom.

****

See? Non-cliffhanger ending. I am capable of them! :-) Anyway, your comments would be absolutely adored – please take a moment to review, it's utterly worshipped! To all of ye facing SATs, exams, end of year horrors, good luck! 

Hanging On: Thanks

The awesome Angelique Hallowed: Uh ::looks guilty:: I like cliffhangers. See, they give me something to write next chapter. I know they're a devil, but some days, I get in, and I'm just so frickin shattered that if I didn't have the cliffhangers, I'd be lost on what to write. Especially the days where I walk home (about 3 miles down a motorway.) So it's evil…but...it's impossible for me to stop. I should probably get help. Thank you!

The almighty Anjel: Thank you for all the reviews! ::grins:: I'm totally delighted that you like the story! It's just based on TP's books :-) I've probably smashed various bits of plot to pieces somewhere (I'm sure I have some of the ages wrong, and the descs...) Thanks!

The amazing Aquilla: Thank you :-) I'll ask my page elf (she makes the page because I am an Internet idiot) to put it up. I love the anime style drawing – and yours look good to me! Food poisoning is so scuzzy… but I am over it :-) Thanks!

The avant-garde Arturo: Or else *what*? Hmm? ::grins:: After my recent exams, my ego needs boosting! (Dire is not the word…) Well, let's just say as this is but one of a series, it's a case of relationships that pass in the night. Things change. And some things stay the same. Pip finds someone more interesting than a cute soldier :-) And that dragon is about 500 years too old for Kit (I mean c'mon, age gap!) Thank you muchly!

The captivating Cass: Thank you :-) I couldn't kill Ryan ~ I'm too attached to him! The dragon will be fun (dragons fascinate me…I have a statue of one curled up in my room that I got from a craft fair.) I'm going to try and stop with the cliffhangers. It's getting to therapy point!

The cracking Catchfire: Thank you highly! Unfortunately, waiting seems to be a big part of reading anything I write (but hey, wait till summer – I have eight weeks offreedom.) Thanks!

The ever-chirpy Chip: Ryan and Kel :-) I have plans. (I have a few pages of the sequel done. Gods, when I am I going to learn to **stop** after one story?) I'm working on the more thing!

The definitive Dead Flower: That Arachon is *gone*. ::grins:: I promise not to bring it back if I get lazy. What Cleon sees – ah well, you know that one now! I'm trying to write more – unfortunately, I'm in the middle of exams at the moment., and will be till the end of July now. But then I have eight weeks of freedom! 

The delightful Diomede: Aish, has it really been that many reviews? (Well, the story's been going six months) Thank you for reviewing :-) The story has been a bit rough round the edges, I know, but it's shaking out. The sequel will be better. ::grins:: I hope you enjoy what you read! And please tell the folks who recommended me thanks!

The delectable Dreamgirl: Hiya! Thank you very much :-) I enjoy writing fanfic, and it fills up the time waiting for Squire. And it's a great way not to do homework...I will always write more, even it does take a little while! Thanks!

The fabulous Fei: Three years? Hey, the longest I've ever taken for a story is...uh...this one, actually. (Normally it's three months-ish) But I have been busy :-) This year's exam chaos, but soon as summer comes, I'm going to sit down and get enough written so I don't have this problem next year (assuming I'm still here then.) Kel and Ryan surprised me. I wasn't expecting them to be a couple...wretched characters, I swear, they're alive! :-) Thanks!

The glorious Gabs: I'm a-writing as fast as I can…hopefully it hasn't taken me too long ot get this part out. :-) I have about six stories on the go...it takes time! Everyone should tell me how to write…all the help is muchly 'preciated! Thank you very much!

The inspiring Ivy Leaves: MI:2…or you could do an MI – through the lasers...oh, Tom Cruise ain't all that! (Close, close, but he's no James Marsters.) Thank you so much, I don't think I could not continue if I tried (writing is a drug, I swear it. Second only to the all time great addictive- oxygen.)

The jazzy Jenn: I like cats :-) I have a pair, and I swear, they have Faithful-stares. And dragons are always fun! (and sweet.) Terrible and saintly – what a great sum-up for cliffhangers! Well, I have tried not to end this part of one (and it was **so** difficult.) Andrea/Ryan. I really can't say :;whistles innocently and twiddles thumbs:: Thank you!

The joyous Jinx: Hey, don't apologise for not reviewing J I don't expect it! Good luck for your permit test, I'm sending passing vibes your way! (Vibes to pass, not vibes that pass by). David Eddings…I've seen his name somewhere...Waterstones! That's it! I'll have to read him sometime. Eah, I don't know about getting chapters out regularly... But they're still getting out! Cheers!

The kickass Kim: I have to end the chapters somewhere! Sorry this took so long – my ****** teachers decided to land about eighteen mock exams on me. (Fun!) Thank you – if you read it all today, whoa! That's a helluva lot of reading! Thanks!

The laconic Lady: Thanks! Hey, I don't care how long the reviews are – you've still taken time and thought to write it. Thank you muchly – I'm glad you liked it! 

The lovely Larzdinn ::horrified scream:: Oh my god! I'm so sorry! ::wince:: Xing must have not sent me the review...ike, ::grovelling:: Very sorry. But thank you for your review :-) Hanging on may not be 25 long – that was a max. I have the next story, 'A Lady's Shield' started. So yes!

The luminous Leap: Thank you muchly :-) I'm getting used to writing a different world (I've been writing Nightworld fics for three years now, it's really difficult to break the habit!), I'm glad it's working out!

The light-hearted Leevee: There is more, there is, there is! I am working on it! I love dragons – they're fabulous creatures (If you like dragons, Anne McCaffrey does a mean line of books about them.) Cleon may be glad of Joren (may…). Thanks!

The laudable Lily: Thank you :-) I always enjoy writing the story...TP has such a great world (how she does it I will never know!) and it never stops surprising me that other people enjoy it- thanks! 

The marvellous Me: I hate being sick. It just…bites. But I got over it J And shall stay well away from seafood for a while (still, it tasted so good, it was almost worth the PV.) LOL! Thank you! I am moreing...

The magnificent Mel: Thank you muchly J I'm glad you like it – it's always a lot of fun to write...I spend most of my weekend work thinking up what's going to happen next. I don't about soon – but I'm trying!

The mystical Myst: Thank you hugely for **all** the reviews! Aislamiento is a Spanish word, meaning loneliness of isolation. It's one I've been meaning to write for ages. I am trying my damnedest to keep the writing good, and try to make it better. The characters are springing to life :-) Thanks!

The nirvanic Naavi: I don't like to get too dark – this story got that way, much to my surprise…hopefully it'll be a bit more light-hearted from now! ::grins:: I have to write long chapters. I can't get enough story in in shorter ones! Thank you!

The natty Noelle: Thank you highly! Yeah, I am alive, just festering in the rainy hell of Britain, as it currently is. And don't eat food from burger vans either! Mithros just strikes as being all-mighty...and all-annoying :-) And well...I was seriously upset when Faithful died! I like messing about with the relationships in the story J Keeps me entertained (and hopefully you too!) Thank you!

The queenly Quartz: It might be that Xing didn't send me your review ::frowns:; Fraggit.::gets down on hands and knees:: I'm sorry about that! Please forgive me for the sake of my carpet burns! I figure Joren and Cleon make an interesting pair – they off-set each other nicely. You don't suck! I can kind of see the point of short chapters – I mean, mine must take a while to read – it just depends what you're writing. If I'd done this in short chapters, it'd be up to about Ch 100 by now! I like the Roman view of the gods – that they were just one big squabbling family. Hope you had a better day and gracias!

The supreme Shannon: Heyla, ack, I hope school wasn't too bad! I go back tomorrow (though it's like the 21/04 as I write this so I'll be back by now...) Thank you muchly! 

The sensational Silver Mist Tigress: I just can't see Ryan being polite to anyone. It's not his style :-) And Faithful's fun to write…cats are so cheeky (I have two of the wretched creatures and they seem to think they're more important than me in the house. Sadly, so do my parents!) Thanks!

The sparkling Sparrow: I like the light-hearted stories…unfortunately, hey can't always be that way, but it's always fun when they are! Hey, my lit teacher always gives me good advice, so sounding like one isn't necessarily a bad thing! Ta!

The serendipitous Sulia: Like a good stew, the plot thickens :-) Mind you, it's all starting to shake out into place now! Ah, those hurroks :-) They're such a great creation. Cute, yet lethal. Thank you muchly!

The terrific Tatra: Occasionally I do kill characters off, but Ryan wasn't one of them J He features too much. I had fun writing that bit with the dragon – it lightens things up. Thanks!

The wicked Wazzup Girl: Hiya! Oh, don't mention homework! I spent my holidays analysing 23 poems, learning alllll about laminas, and trying desperately to figure out calculus! Maybe I am trying to drive you crazy….but it's working, ain't it? ::grins:: I'm going to try and cure my cliffhanger fetish. Enough is enough!

The resplendent :o) :I will always post! It may take me a while to get round to it, but I will!I really can't see Ryan as the reverent type – after all, what have the gods ever done for him? Thanks!

Comments would be simply adored!


	19. The End of the Beginning

This is, in fact, the last part. This came as quite a shock to me... So the odd explanation: some ends are left untied - that's because I'm going to deal with them in the next story (and it quite surprised me that there *is* a next.) In a piece of blatant and tacky advertising: it's called A Lady's Shield.  
  
Apologies for the time this has taken - since January, my life has been one long trawl of exams, mock-exams, tests and examlets. Blame the British education system. :-) But they're over (you might be able to hear me screaming madly wherever you are) and I'll have summer to write.   
  
The next story, I promise, will be better written. This is the first time I've ever written - or attempted to write - a TP fanfic, so I'm sorry about the mess this story has been. I have a lot clearer idea of what I'm doing with the next one, and hopefully, you'll enjoy it.   
  
Lastly - and most importantly - thank you so much for all your comments, your ideas, your suggestions, your rants and encouragement and for the response you gave me. I have been *totally* floored. You've been utterly phenomenal - thanks for putting up with me!  
  
You will recognise Ryan's story as a variant on a common fairy tale - I've torallan-ised it. (Gods know with all the hubbub going round about plagiarism lately, I have no urge to get my account evaporated.)  
  
Part Nineteen  
  
Two weeks and everything had changed beyond Kel's grasp.  
  
~ Enjoying the sun, mortaling? ~ a lazy voice said.  
  
Kel turned and jumped. Somehow, the forty foot dragon had managed to sneak up on her.   
  
*There* was one huge change. Master Salmalin had brought Jademirth over from the Dragon Realms by mistake, and now he didn't seem inclined to leave. The elegant, gorgeously beautiful collection of green leanness with eyes that shone like turquoise in the sun winked at her.   
  
It winked. Dragons, she was sure, shouldn't do that. She couldn't get used to the fact that Jademirth wasn't quite like other dragons. ~ Don't worry, I won't tell them you're shirking your duties. ~  
  
"I've had enough of washing bandages," she said tiredly. "It's women's work."  
  
It arched its long neck until the triangular head came close to sniff at her. Its breath smelled of pine and sap. Jademirth, it had turned out, was the Immortal Realms' only vegetarian dragon. ~ Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you a female? ~  
  
"Yes," she said grumpily, "but I'm a knight."  
  
~ Ah. I thought mortal women couldn't be knights? Or have things changed since I was last here? ~  
  
"They've changed," she answered. Then, piqued by curiosity, she added, "When *were* you last here?"  
  
The bass voice rumbled. ~ Three thousand years ago, give or take. And in three thousand years, I didn't see as much excitement as I did in one day here. Times have changed! ~ It grinned, showing dozens of pearled spiky teeth. ~ Why are you so miserable, mortaling? ~  
  
She shrugged. "I don't know. Everything's changed all of a sudden."  
  
She remembered a week ago, when the enormous dragon had walked into the camp with Master Salmalin and a strange lady mage at his side. She had later been introduced as Laird, a red-robed mage and former prisoner of a magical beast called an Arachon. Flanking them had been Cleon - who Kel was delighted to see - and Joren - who Kel was less than delighted to see. And on the dragon's back had been a crippled boy introduced as Marcus of Kennan, Cleon's brother (apparently this had been as much news to Cleon as to her), and a little girl who said nothing but stared at everyone with big, dark eyes.   
  
And of course, Andrea.  
  
She was comatose. In seven days, she hadn't stirred from the deep still slumber she had fallen into after helping Ryan. The healers said it was exhaustion, nothing more, after too many days of beatings, torture and overwork. Now, they were starting to look uneasy.  
  
Most of the Riders were gone to meet the King, who was riding up to meet them with an armed force that hadn't been seen since the War.   
  
~ Change is unavoidable, ~ the dragon murmured. ~ Usually, you mortals thrive on it. ~ He had sunk onto his side, the long neck stretched out on the warm ground, glistening in the sun.   
  
"Kel?"  
  
She half-smiled at Ryan as he approached. The streetboy grinned at her, and dumped the basket he was carrying. "More of them damn bandages. Healer's have told me I'm to help ye." His smile dimmed. "Andrea still ain't awake." His soft grey eyes hardened to flint. "If I ever meet that monster that put all them cuts on her, I'll kick it from Midwinter to Mithros, an' let *him* fry it."   
  
"I know," she said. "I'm sorry about that."  
  
"Ain't your fault, Kel," he sighed and sat down to dangle his feet in the stream. "King's men have just arrived, by the way. I'm supposed to tell ye, you're to go-"  
  
Kel was a disappearing blur in the distance.  
  
Ryan blinked, and smiled. "-meet them," he finished softly. "Hey, lizard, you look after the laundry? I want t'go an' see this."  
  
~ I'm not a lizard, ~ Jademirth retorted. ~ But run along, mortaling. I think I'll catch up on my sunbathing. ~  
  
Ryan snapped him a cheeky salute. The dragon swished its tail at him half-heartedly, and sprawled in the light.  
  
****  
  
Kel skidded into the main camp as the hordes of armoured knights poured in, trailing banners and squires and laden saddlebags. Her breath caught in her throat at the sheer magnificence of it, and for a moment, she was intensely proud to be Tortallan.  
  
"-dozens of places like this on the way up," she could hear the cool tones of the King saying to her brother. "We passed through entire villages of people who had barricaded themselves in their homes. And there were some Stormwings who actually asked us for sanctuary." He grimaced. "I suppose this means long sweeps across country in the hope we can flush these creatures out of their homes."  
  
"Not at all, sire," Inness said. His eyes noted Kel, waiting unobtrusively to one side. He nodded curtly. "Their leader is the father of the Lady Bruna. You might remember her, sire."  
  
"I do." The King's pained tones left no doubt as to just what he thought of Bruna. "Lord Farbrook? As far as I am aware, he is utterly against magic."  
  
"From what Lady Bruna says," Inness answered, grimacing, "he is against magic, but entirely for power."  
  
"I see. Would it be possible to talk to Lady Bruna?"  
  
Her brother sighed heavily. "Lady Bruna is not...herself."  
  
How true that was! When the girl had awoken from her healing, Kel had expected her to be her usual scything self. But instead, it was as if all her life and cruelty had been drained from her and left only a semblance of a person who flinched at every shadow, who said not a word and stared as vacantly at Jademirth as at Kel.  
  
There was, to put it kindly, no one home.  
  
"Kel?" The voice froze her solid for a moment.  
  
She turned around slowly, feeling a knot of emotion surging in her stomach and spreading across her body like a cascade of boiling water.  
  
Those green eyes...they had been far gentler when she looked at them last, and the smile hadn't been quite so hesitant, and he hadn't been wearing the gleaming plate armour.  
  
She had thought that her feelings for Neal had been a phase. Out of sight, out of mind, she had thought, and enjoyed the quiet company of a streetboy who was a mage in muddy disguise.  
  
Wrong.  
  
"Neal?" she managed to get out, completely thrown.   
  
Her first thought was: he's even more handsome  
  
Her second was: oh Goddess, *Ryan*.  
  
Her third was: aaargh!  
  
"You look like I just rose from the dead!" he said brightly, blissfully unaware of the fact she had been dead a scant fortnight ago. Then he stopped, and hesitated.  
  
Dozens of silent words hung between them, as she looked in the depths of his emerald eyes, as elusive as a jungle, and wished she had the courage to say some of them aloud. She was torn again; here was Neal, the dream, the fantasy, the chimera. And there was Ryan, the surprisingly sweet reality.  
  
"How have you been?" was all she did say.  
  
He shrugged. "Not too bad. The Lioness is working me in to the ground, as ever." His smile, as startling as sunlight hitting a cobweb, flashed. "Life was quiet without you around...everyone missed you. *I* missed you."  
  
He said the last more quietly, as though he didn't want anyone else to hear.  
  
The words made her both glad and sad. "Me too." Only half a lie; she had missed him, but not in the same way she once would have.  
  
Silence again, quivering like a hummingbird.   
  
Neal sighed suddenly and then stepped forward and gave her a hug. She clung onto him briefly, her stomach churning with too many feelings. "Dear girl, we have *got* to talk when this is all over."  
  
"We will," she promised. She couldn't read the look in his eyes, and it worried her. What if he wanted...things from her? She couldn't give herself to him now, and Kel wasn't even sure if she wanted to. At least, not in the same way.  
  
"For now..." he put one hand to his forehead theatrically and proclaimed, "I must seek out the traitors and punish them! As is the calling of a young and fearless squire such as myself," he added loftily.  
  
Kel snorted with laughter. Some things about Neal would never change.  
  
"This from the person who can't stand spiders?" Cleon demanded, joining them. He was dressed for battle too, she noticed wistfully. The healers had banned her from fighting for a month, until they were certain she had suffered no ill-effects from her little...sortie into death. "The only way you'd catch them is because they were laughing too hard to move!"  
  
"Better show them your face then," Neal countered. "I hear you've been having adventurous fun with our friend Joren?"  
  
"I've spent most of the last couple of weeks wanting to throttle him if that's what you mean," Cleon admitted. "And...I've found my brother."  
  
"So I hear," Neal said. "Your parents went home with him last week, didn't they?"  
  
"We're not far from home here," the redhead admitted. "it's strange though - I don't know him at all. And my parents seemed so...hesitant. Like they didn't expect him to react how he did."  
  
She remembered the day Marcus had left. The little girl, Shari, had gone with them too.. Cleon definitely had his father's build, but his smile was all his mother's, a tiny delicate woman who had smacked Cleon around the head when she saw him and demanded to know why he hadn't written in half a year.  
  
But Marcus had simply stared at them, his eyes too old and too wary for someone of his age. Shari, the child who looked like an angel with her masses of white-blond hair and pale, supple skin, had buried her head in his chest and clung to him.  
  
"Marc?" Yvette Kennan had asked softly, swallowing hard. She had stepped forward, and then stopped, as if she wasn't quite sure what to expect.  
  
"Mother," he had said. His voice cool and almost emotionless. Then he had bowed his head and said. "I'm sorry."  
  
She had run over then, and embraced her missing son, while Cleon's father had added in his gruff voice, "What happened to you, son?"  
  
He had pushed away his mother - for a moment, Kel had thought him cruel and cold, but then she had realised just how incredibly damaged he had to be. He had survived nearly ten years of torture and loneliness, having no one but himself and a few other mad or hopeless prisoners. He had been beaten, crippled, left to die.  
  
He didn't *know* how to act with people.  
  
"It's a long story," he muttered, then patted Shari reassuringly. "Mother...this is Shari. She was a prisoner in the same place I was. I'm all the family she has. Do you think she...?"  
  
That day, the Kennans gained a son and a daughter. It was obvious Shari regarded Marcus as her protector, and would only be prised away from him when he told her quietly that no one would hurt her, and that he wasn't going anywhere.  
  
Kel had to wonder what on earth his future could hold. He was a mage, but an untrained mage who had had his power devoured by a monster for years.  
  
She had the feeling though, from the determined look in his eyes, Marcus of Kennan would leave an impact on the world somehow.  
  
"Still," Cleon continued now, "I suppose after what he's been though." His face hardened slightly. "That place was...*dreadful*. I don't know how anyone could survive."  
  
"Luck, probably," Neal said solemnly. "Any idea what's going to happen here?"  
  
Cleon shrugged. "They're sending that girl - Andrea - back to the palace. The healers here think Duke Baird might be able to wake her up. And the mage Master Salmalin found...Laird? For the university magi to talk to." He gave Neal a sly look. "You university people. You're not happy unless you can dissect everything."  
  
"That's because we have inquiring minds," Neal declared haughtily. "Unlike you hopeless ruffians."  
  
"That's why you talk so much rubbish," Kel put in, grinning at him.  
  
His eyebrows arched, a smile playing about his mouth. "I resent that bitterly, my dear. Don't discount my higher ideals just because you can't understand them-"  
  
"Neal," she said sweetly, "Do you want me to break your nose?"  
  
"-though of course," he said with hardly a pause for breath, "I don't really know what I'm talking about."  
  
"Neither does anyone else," Cleon muttered, shaking his head.   
  
For a moment, Kel caught Neal's eyes and the emotions swirling in them made her breath catch. Her dilemma crashed back on her with a resounding thump. What was she going to do about this?  
  
****  
  
Ryan Talver had watched Kel while she talked to the tall boy. When he asked Miri, all too casually, who he was, she had told him that was Nealan of Queenscove.   
  
Nealan. Ryan stored the name away, and watched them a little longer.   
  
It had dawned on him over the last two weeks, when he spent so much time with Kel, laughing and joking, and when evening drew dark and close, talking of more serious matters, that she was probably his best friend.   
  
His best friend. And his sweetheart. The most important person to him.  
  
When Kel went back towards the stream, he followed her on light feet, silent as a ghost. "Kel," he said, when they were far enough from the camp.  
  
She spun around, her hazel eyes alarmed until she recognised him. "You have *got* to stop doing that. One day I'm going to drop dead of fright."  
  
"Can't have that, can we?" he said, grinning. "Look, I want to talk to ye about somethin'."  
  
Uneasiness flashed in her eyes. "What?"  
  
So there was some truth to the rumours. "I've been hearin' things, lass," he said quietly. "'Bout you an' Nealan of Queenscove. An'..I know I'm just some streetrat, an' I ain't at all suitable for you, so if you...want to end it, I ain't goin' to kick up a fuss."  
  
There was silence, and the gold flecks in her eyes seemed to spread and swell like butter melting.   
  
"Sometimes, Ryan Talver," she said slowly, "you're incredibly stupid."  
  
He blinked. "Huh?"  
  
"Rumour's...rumour. There was...something," she said, and gave a little shrug. "And he's still my friend, and I don't think that'll change. But he's not *you*."  
  
He could feel a wild joy beginning to sizzle inside him, but Ryan kept his expression carefully controlled. "Lass, I saw your face when you were talkin' to him-"  
  
"I was shocked," Kel said bluntly. "I thought I would still feel something. And maybe I do, just a little, because liking Neal is a habit I got into." She smiled faintly. "It's a hard one to break. But I don't feel the same way about him as I do about you. I just...don't know how to tell him."  
  
By now, she was a deep, and rather touching, scarlet.   
  
"I hate emotional things," she said. "Fighting is so much easier."  
  
"If you think you're pummellin' *me* to work out your problems, think again!" he said, finally letting his smile appear. "Really?"  
  
He didn't like sounding so insecure, but he couldn't help it. Almost everyone he had known hadn't wanted him, one way or another. It was hard to believe Kel would be any different.  
  
Kel rolled her eyes exasperatedly, but it was softened by the hug she gave him. "Really, you idiot."  
  
"By the way," Ryan murmured into her ear, taking the opportunity to hold her close a little longer in one of the few moments of privacy they had had lately, "I can't help but notice that ye've got pine needles in your hair, lass."  
  
"Oh," she said, and submitted as he picked them out. "That's...observant of you."  
  
"I'm a thief," he said dryly. "I have to be observant. An'..." He left one arm around her waist, and tilted her chin up. "Ye've somethin' on your mouth, lass."  
  
She frowned. He adored the way it made lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. I'm obsessed, Ryan thought ruefully. I notice the most insanely stupid things about her. "What?"  
  
He couldn't stop his smile as he leaned in and kissed her, delighted at her startled breath, and then the way she melted into him. He drew his head back finally. "That," he said, and would have said more if she hadn't kissed *him*.  
  
They ended up sitting at the base of a tree, hidden by the screen of trees and plants from the occasional person, with her coiled comfortably into his arms. Ryan sighed contentedly, all his worries about Nealan of Queenscove vanished, and closed his eyes against the spattered green light slipping through the leaves.  
  
Kel tilted her head on one side, twisting to look at him. She would, he thought absently, be a stunner with the right style of hair and some of the face-paints Hana had in such abundance. "I've been meaning to ask you something."  
  
"Aye?" he said, wondering what it could be  
  
"Joren keeps finding things of his go missing, and then turn up in strange places," Kel said sweetly. He couldn't stop the wide, feline smile that curled over his face. "I couldn't help but notice that it began the day after you overheard him calling you a common peasant pretending to be a mage."  
  
"He must just be forgetful," Ryan said innocently. "I'm always pickin' things up an' forgettin' where I put them down."  
  
"I doubt he put all his clothes in the centre of the stream," Kel remarked. But he could see she was struggling not to smile. "You're irrepressible!"  
  
"I don't even know what that means," he said cheerfully. "So I'll take your word for it. Don't tell me you didn't think it was funny."  
  
She nodded, then blinked. "I did, true." She chuckled, a rich earthy sound that grazed his ears like raw silk. "His face...and speaking of problems, have you thought about trying to heal Andrea? Did you tell me you two were bonded?"  
  
He made a face. "Aye, lass, but she's the healer, not me. I tried to reach the Goddess, but she ain't answerin' right now. Probably found some poor devil to send on an impossible quest."  
  
"It wasn't impossible," Kel protested. "You found her, didn't you?"  
  
"Well, actually, Stone Mountain's first troll an' your mate Cleon did," Ryan said glumly. "But it ain't right, Kel. I could always feel her before, you know, in my head, like. Nothin' now."  
  
"Why don't you try waking her with a kiss?" she suggested lightly. The poisonous look she got as an answer would have killed bears at fifty paces. "Have you tried praying?"  
  
"Prayin'?" His eyes narrowed. Really, Kel thought with an inner sigh, he should have been born noble. There were going to be a lot of court women hunting him down until he opened his mouth and they realised he wasn't as pureblooded as he looked.  
  
"It is the method of choice to commune with your gods," she pointed out. "It helps if you beg and plead a bit, too."  
  
"Beg?" Just as she had thought. Ryan's method of talking to the Goddess had probably involved shouting and swearing at her very loudly in the privacy of his mind. "That work?"  
  
"Sometimes," she said. "Maybe you just need to be a bit more polite."  
  
"Well..." he said dubiously. "I'll give it a try. Ain't anythin' else left."  
  
****  
  
The inside of the tent was light and cool, but it made no difference to the girl huddled in a corner, shaking. She might have been plunged back into the pitch darkness that so much of her life had been spent in.   
  
No one who had known Lady Bruna of Farbrook would have recognised her. The features were the same, but the expression was filled with a slack terror, and shadows flitted about her eyes like ghosts of yesterday.  
  
She could only remember the dreadful, gripping fear of seeing her father there. Her father, the executioner of the Gifted, with his black, black eyes that were like falling into two pits, and the light playing across them was like the sweep of a blade towards her. Her father, with his handsome face and his empty smile. With a voice like honey and a soul like rotting flesh.  
  
He used to lock her in the cellar, for hours and hours on end, screaming at her that her Gift was nothing but a blight that would be cut out of her if she did not control it. She had always hated the dank, dripping sounds that rattled about the place, where the rats that were big enough and fearless enough to come and nip at her.  
  
Every morning, he would drag her from there, and every evening, when her Gift was still there, he would throw her back. Fling her, like a piece of trash.  
  
It might have been different if her mother had lived. But she had died giving birth to Bruna, to this cursed creature.  
  
And 'might have' had made no difference to the bleak existence that had dragged out for years until finally, her father could send her away to a convent, where she hid her powers from the priests, terrified that they would treat her the same.  
  
It had been years before she discovered that the Gift was something to be proud of.  
  
She had been able to hide her fear under a pretty smile, and her lack of confidence under coldness and cruelty. It had been easy; she had made herself a shining, beautiful court creature and no one had seen through to the ugly, shattered thing she was.  
  
For a while, she had even thought that those black memories were fading. She lost herself in a world of riches and romance, flirting with men and snubbing women, and the cellar seemed an illusion she had once had.  
  
Until this trip. Until she had seen her father again.  
  
Part of her whispered that he had stolen magic himself, that everything he had preached to her was a lie. The other part whispered that what her father had could not be true magic; he would never stoop to that. He was not cursed by the gods as she was.   
  
Logic told her he loved power more than ethics.   
  
Fear told her that he was right and she was just a filthy, tainted monster.  
  
She no longer knew what to think, so she let her mind drift through waking dreams of the court, of the cellar, until she didn't know where reality ended and memory began.  
  
When hands nudged at her, and pulled her, she let them, unknowing of how wide and blank her eyes remained, and how they would sometimes spill tears down her smooth face. She didn't care how she would sometimes scream, and sometimes lie unmoving, or how she was scratching her hands into pieces.  
  
She only knew that the mask she had built up so carefully had fallen away, and however she tried, she was still that ugly, ugly monster that her father had beaten.  
  
That was all.  
  
****  
  
"Well, well, Lady ha Minch," Hakuin Seastone said gleefully, as she strode into the practice room of the Palace, feeling very apprehensive. Unbeknown to anyone, she had spent an hour doing the stretches and flexes that Neal and his friends had taught her over the past weeks in the faint hope she'd withstand this hour of gruelling punishment with the Shang.  
  
"At least you've dressed appropriately," the Wildcat remarked, her hands on her hips. She examined Pip with sharp grey eyes. "We had to teach some of the wretched creatures basic exercises and they all turned up in their nicest dresses and make-up, determined to outdo each other."  
  
"Now…" The Shang Horse rubbed his palms together. "What shall we start with, Eda? The Queen wants us to make sure you *work* today."  
  
"No gallivanting off on hurroks," the Wildcat put in sternly. "Let's start with what we taught those overdressed idiots. Some stretches." Her heartless smile warned Pip she was in for trouble. "Right girl, by the end of a few lessons, we'll have you doing *this*."   
  
The Wildcat slid into graceful splits, then stretched forward until her upper body was flat along her leg.  
  
Pip gave her a sweet, naïve smile then copied the movement perfectly. She remembered the year when her parents had hired a tumbler in the hope he could keep Pip out of trouble. He had...only instead of watching him, Pip had made the poor young man teach her acrobatics. He had quit a year later, saying there was no point in him staying, much to the bafflement of her parents.  
  
Both Shangs stared. Then the Wildcat flashed a cool, slightly startled smile. "Well...how about this?"  
  
She sat up again, then put her hands behind her. A lift of her legs brought them together, then with sheer upper body strength, the Wildcat turned her body over into a backflip.  
  
It was a move Pip had spent *hours* practising, and it was ridiculously easy. Especially after she had taught - or tried to teach - Neal and Seaver. Her muscles moved smoothly under her, and then she was upright and looking at the respectful expression of the Wildcat.  
  
"My," the woman said. "Hakuin, I think we have a trapeze artist here."  
  
"Hmm..." The Shang Horse circled Pip, eyebrows drawn together and his forehead knotted. "All right, girl, what Shang moves do you know?"  
  
Pip shrugged. "Not many. Only what the boys showed me."  
  
"They shouldn't be teaching," the Wildcat muttered. "Half of them can't even get the moves right." She nodded. "Show me all the punches you know."  
  
All? Maybe it would just be easier to show them the routine she did every night. Her parents her had given her a music-orb for her birthday; it was a crystal that a mage had trapped a song in, and Pip danced to it. She loved dancing - though she never *ever* danced in public - and it was an easy way to tire herself out so much that she fell asleep before the dreadful snores of Lady Faline down the corridor kept her awake.  
  
Here the opening bars, she told herself, imagining the light, merry sound of the violin opening the dance. *One*-two-three, *one*-two-three...  
  
The steps fell into her head easily, and she began to move through the sequence of stretches, punches, kicks, pirouettes and acrobatics that made the two Shangs exchange a meaningful glance. In her head, the music sped up, and she with it, as the flute and pipes accompanied the strings. Faster and faster and fater, until the final kick that spun her around and brought her back to face the pair.  
  
Silence. Resounding, complete silence.  
  
It must have been wrong, Pip realised, feeling a flush creep over her face.  
  
"Mithros defend us," the Horse said weakly. "Eda, do you think...?"  
  
"You're good," the Wildcat said crisply, and flashed a toothy grin. "Very good. How would you like to become a student?"  
  
"Be a Shang warrior?" Pip squeaked, her eyes widening.  
  
The woman shook her head vigorously. "No! Nobles can't be Shang. But we'd like to teach you. Maybe you won't be Shang, but you'll be nearly as good. If you'd like the lessons."  
  
"I'd love them!" Pip said enthusiastically. Finally! Something to do in the Palace apart from sit around and watch the other girls gawp at the men passing through. "When can I start?"  
  
The Horse snorted with laughter. "Will now do?"  
  
****  
  
Evening found the knights, Riders and rest of the camp sprawled out around where the King was standing, looking stern and grave. Kel looked around at the bristling weapons, the serious faces and the dozens of banners, and realised she had never appreciated just how many people it took to defend the kingdom.  
  
The King held up a hand for silence, and the babble died away.  
  
"Welcome to all of you," he called. His voice carried easily, deep and resounding. "Thank you - I know you have been riding for some days now. But I have good news. We know who the leader of these...magical thieves is."  
  
A startled murmur washed around the gathered knights.  
  
"We will ride to Fief Farbrook now," King Jonathan said, his eyes like sapphire stars, twisting and glittering brilliantly. "We will attack under cover of darkness; Master Salmalin will search out the way for us. I must also caution you not to fire at *anything* on the way. No deer, no animals, especially not birds. You will be divided into groups of eight by My Lord Commander."  
  
Kel grinned as she saw Sir Raoul lift a hand so everyone could see him, off to one side. He must have seen her because he nodded in her direction.   
  
"There will be at least one mage with each group," the King continued. "We will reach the Fief before nightfall, but the attack will begin under cover of darkness - so if it has human form, don't shoot. Chances are you might be hitting on of our own. Once the attack is underway, our mages will provide light. These...people have magic, but they can be killed like you or I." He went on to outline the finer detail of the plan, describing routes and the best weapons, as well as cautioning everyone to move within pairs once the attack began.  
  
"Questions?" he said finally.  
  
Lord Wyldon, looking as wiry and formidable as ever, stood stood. "Sire, how many are we fighting?"  
  
"Hopefully," the low, quiet voice of Master Salmalin cut in, "I will find that out. All information will be relayed back to your mages."  
  
"What happens if we're bitten?" her former teacher demanded. "Will it have any effect?"  
  
The mage smiled grimly. "We have several people who were bitten by the creatures. All are fine."  
  
"I heard that a girl went mad," a man called from the back of the crowd. "How do you know that wasn't from the beasts?"  
  
The mage's dark eyes sought the man out. "Rumour runs ahead of the truth again," he said gently. "The girl in question recognised one of the people who attacked her. She was...extremely upset."  
  
More questions came, and the sun was beginning to into the skyline before they were ended, and the knights and Riders sorted into groups. As people began to drift away to saddle mounts and ride out, Kel made her way over to her knightmaster.  
  
"No, you are not coming," he said before she even opened her mouth. "Over my dead body."  
  
Before she could turn to Lord Wyldon in mute appeal (after all, he had fought with a broken arm), her former teaching master smiled grimly. "And I'll be using his body as a barricade."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Youngling," Sir Raoul said, frowning, "the healers want you here and I agree with them. There will be other fights."  
  
She held her tongue after that. She knew the stubborn look on his face all too well.  
  
It was with a heavy heart she watched the train of men ride into the distance.  
  
****  
  
Numair soared over the forbidding ramparts of Fief Farbrook, his hawk's eyes sharp even in the dim light. Moonlight spilled over the stone building like water, throwing a silvery light across the statues that lined the roofs. Statues of wolves, Numair noticed darkly, like the monstrous creature that had attacked them.  
  
It froze his heart to think how close the three children - children who were *his* responsibility - had come to dying.  
  
Dipping now, folding his wings to plummet into the courtyard and note the unearthly silence that lay over the place like a blanket. Where were the torches that should have been burning? The odd sound of the few people still awake?  
  
He saw a heap of strange objects in one corner, and swooped to land above it.  
  
The smell of blood hit him.  
  
Oh god, he thought, as the heap separated into shapes, his brain making sense of the mess. That's where those people are. Bones, and hanks of things he didn't want to think about, flung together like waste.  
  
Monster. Lord Farbrook was a monster.  
  
He left the courtyard, winging through a slit of a window and praying that the same sight was not repeated everywhere. It was only a small fief; around a hundred people lived there, and surely they could not all be dead?  
  
He searched for what seemed like hours through musty hallways and deserted rooms, until he came to the Great Hall.   
  
There, and only there, he found the misshapen, distorted life he sought. Creatures were slumped before a roaring, crackling fire that threw hot orange light across their clawed, deformed bodies. Half in, half out of any recognisable shape; in their sleep, they could no longer control the magic.  
  
How many there? Perhaps a score, no more. Others, no doubt, roamed the land, but Numair knew that with spells like this, removing the head of the magic would destroying the links of all the weaker creatures.  
  
Kill the lord, and the others would become human.  
  
They would face trial, he had no doubt. What else was there to do with them? They had killed - no, slaughtered - and they would face the consequences of it.   
  
Among the sleeping shapes, he saw the one he wanted; an enormous black wolf, twice the size of any normal creature, that slept alone. The others huddled together, as if seeking warmth in the cold dark night of their souls, but this one was alone by choice.   
  
I have found them, Numair thought. And now they shall see the King's justice.  
  
He left, a shadow among shadows.  
  
****  
  
The road was long and dusty, and the weapons weighed Neal down. The rhythmic crash of hundreds of horses' hooves hitting the path had become a dreary sea echoing in his mind. Although they had left the horses a mile or two back and now advanced on stealthy feet, he could still hear the phantom sound of their hooves. He had to fight to keep himself alert.   
  
Above, the moon glided smoothly through the scudding clouds, graceful and distant, throwing a pale ivory light across the earth. Ahead, Neal could see the spiky turrets of Fief Farbrook, and he felt an inadvertent chill shiver through him. Something here felt wrong, so wrong, but he couldn't pinpoint it.   
  
"It's so silent," the Crown Prince murmured close by, his eyes two black pools. Lord Imrah hushed him with a sharp word.  
  
"Nothing alive here," the Lioness said gruffly. She was a dim, short silhouette before Neal, picking her way over the bumpy ground. "Gods curse it," she hissed, tripping. Neal steadied her. "I can't see a damn thing in this helmet."  
  
A sapphire blue flame flared near her, and the Lioness cursed again. "What is it *now*?"   
  
Neal watched, fascinated as she drew her hands together, and then apart. Between them, a globe of violet fire swelled, and in it was cage the face of King Jonathan, grim and satisfied.   
  
"We've found him," he reported with a note of triumph in his voice. "Alanna, Numair is going to meet you at the castle gate. He'll direct you...your group are going in first. Wyldon is going in through the eastern gate, Raoul by the northern and myself by the west. The remainder of the knights will follow us if needs be. Good luck to you, Champion."  
  
"Sire," the Lioness said, a wild grin flashing. The globe snapped out, and she turned to Neal, her smile gleaming in the gloom. "Well, Squire, you're going to see some excitement!"  
  
"Oh, *yay*," Neal said glumly. "Just what I wanted."  
  
****  
  
The alicorn stopped, and flicked her mane back, knocking away the flies.  
  
So this was Tortall. This was the haven that the mortal boy had spoken of. It was a city like any other; there was no purity or beauty surrounding it, only the same mass of buildings you would find in any place. It had it slums, and its filth, and its scum...but out of this, the castle rose like a great white unicorn.  
  
This was where she must go.  
  
There was a woman here that she has glimpsed in the thoughts of the mortal boy who had saved her. He had not asked for Chantevol's help, but she would give it to him anyway, Kindness was a great rarity in this changing world, one to be treasured and cherished, and repaid where possible.  
  
She had given the boy a vial, a magical talisman that would call her to him if ever he needed aid; but she would help in another, smaller way too; the horn of an alicorn had fabulous healing power, and there was one the boy had hurt terribly without meaning too.  
  
She cast an enchantment as she entered the city, so no mortal would see her; instead, they moved from her way without appearing to realise, rolling back like some swollen sea. The squalor, the narrow streets filled with dirt, the sly whispers and crimes that evolved around her sickened the alicorn. How could mortals live this way, hemmed in day by day?  
  
She passed through them like a ghost, until she reached the towering grandeur of the palace. And here, finally, she let her magic slide away like water until she stood before these strange uniformed and bedecked humans in all her immortal glory.  
  
They gaped, and stared at her, and finally, when she asked them in the earthy richness of her voice, called a mage to see this fantastic being.  
  
"I have come to heal," she explained simply, looking at this man who called himself Lindhall Reed, and whose dreamy eyes held a calm intelligence. "There is a mortal who rescued me, and it is to him I repay my debt."  
  
"Who do you wish to heal?" the man asked curiously. She could see he was itching to ask her questions, but refrained. "I'm afraid there have been several attacks by immortals and I have to be sure that you mean us no harm." A cursory glance at the claws upon her hands.   
  
"We are only the creation of mortals," she sent tranquilly. "Your Alissa Shandori made me with claws, and so claws I bear, but look..." And she bared her teeth; the flat, wide teeth of the herbivore. "I have no need to use them."  
  
The mage thought for a long time, while she shuffled her long, shining hooves and flicked her tail. Then he nodded. "Very well, but I will accompany you."  
  
She nodded, and the inky black wash of her hair shimmered. "Where is the mortal you call Hana Dharaz?"  
  
"Ah, the...lady of leisure...that Numair's protégée blinded!" the mage said, and nodded eagerly. "You can really heal her?"  
  
"Our horns are renowned for their healing power." Her eyes darkened. "Many mortals have killed us for them."  
  
He glanced at her as she walked beside him, through the arching halls. "Not here."  
  
"No," she agreed placidly. Minutes passed in silence, while Chantevol ignored the stares and gawping of the palace mortals, moving lightly as a summer breeze through their cold, harsh building. All the white marble in the world could hold the life of a clean glade, or the laughter of a stream. This was not her world, but she would suffer it to end her obligation.  
  
They found the woman sat in a corner, trying to sew old fabrics under the stern eye of a palace woman. She winced often as she stabbed the sliver of metal...a needle, the mortal name...into her hand by mistake. The alicorn could not help but notice how many of the other mortal woman sneered a her, while the men's hungry eyes fell on her lovely face and the lazy curls of red hair.  
  
"Jenna?" the mage asked softly. The overseer stopped watching Hana with her hawk's eyes. She blinked as she saw the alicorn, and her hand rose to her mouth.  
  
"Master Reed," she said, awed, "what be that?"  
  
Hana stopped her sewing, and looked in the direction of Jenna's voice.   
  
"I," Chantevol said sharply, "am an alicorn, and I ma *not* a 'that'." She moved forwards, hooves clicking on the flagstones until she stood before Hana. "And I have come to heal you."  
  
"Me?" Hana said, the milky orbs of her eyes gazing in Chantevol's direction. "Why?" Her voice was bitter. "I'm just a prostitute. Who cares about me?"  
  
"Your Ryan cares," she said. "Your mortal youngling? He saved me, and now I will do something to help him, by helping you."  
  
"Ryan?" the woman said, a faint smile touching her lips. "Is he gettin' into trouble again?"  
  
"You mortals are always in trouble," Chantevol said. "Hold still."  
  
The woman froze where she was, quivering slightly as the alicorn lowered her golden, glowing horn to touch Hana's eyelids, first one, then the other, a soft light haloed about her. Slowly, the milky white of her eyes thinned, became translucent, and then an emerald green circle appeared in the centre, a black dot sprouting from that, until Hana's eyes were whole and bright.  
  
She raised her hands to her face, waving them as if she could believe it. And then hse saw Chantevol, and gave a little cry of shock.  
  
The alicorn stepped back.  
  
"Thank you," Hana said shakily.  
  
She shrugged. What did she care for mortal thanks? "The debt is done," she said firmly, and left.  
  
****  
  
It was all so fast, Neal could hardly comprehend it. One moment, pushing open the doors of the great hall and seeing the savannah idleness of the creatures spread carelessly about the floor.  
  
And the next, that great black wolf raised its sleek head, its eyes flashing ember-red, and it howled.   
  
The creatures were upon them so fast, Neal almost forgot what to do. Fight his way through them, battering them away with his shield, stabbing, swiping, chopping with his sword.   
  
Before him, he saw the Lioness charge, a battle cry wild and fierce in her throat as the wolf sprang at her.  
  
They met in a tangle of mortal and magic, metal flickering in the hellish firelight, teeth snapping. The Lioness rolled and twisted, incredibly fast and the wolf snarled, bit, attacked.  
  
Hurry up, hurry up, Neal thought as the weight of bloodthirsty, enraged creatures pressed in on him. He heard the doors crash open as the other parties of knights entered the hall, and joined the fast and furious fighting.  
  
The Lioness went flying, knocked backwards by the weight of the wolf. It crouched low, muscles bunching to spring, a shuddering mass of black-pelted venom. Muscles tensing, jaws opening, it *sprang*.  
  
It didn't see Raoul of Goldenlake step into its path and swing the mighty axe he carried in one clean stroke.  
  
But *everyone* saw the head roll to the ground.  
  
The other creatures screamed suddenly, and curled in on themselves, writhing, screeching as their bodies began to contort and change. Neal was very close to retching as he saw the horrible mutations, and had to look away, though the sound of popping joints and creaking bones would haunt him for years to come.   
  
With their leader dead, their ties to their stolen magic were severed.  
  
It was ended.  
  
****  
  
Ryan heard Hana's voice in his head, Hana telling him stories when he had been a child to lull him to sleep.  
  
~ Once upon a time, ~ the ghost of her voice whispered in his head, ~ there was a princess. And she had hair like the sun trapped in cobwebs, and a smile to split the world asunder. She was lovely, perfect, dazzling except for a small scar on the bridge of her nose. ~  
  
He had only seen Andrea's smile once or twice, but it had hung like a glittering crystal chandelier in his mind. He was supposed to protect her, the Goddess had told him that, and she couldn't be wrong *all* the time. 'Sides, he didn't mind looking after her. She had saved him, and she just an ordinary kid messed up in magic and madness, like him.   
  
Her hair, that glossy golden hair was fanned out on the pillow, and her eyelashes fluttered now and again. Ryan had always thought that sleeping people were still, but pale though she was, Andrea twisted and turned, and sometimes moans escaped her.  
  
~ And one day, a curse was put upon this lovely girl by a man who envied her beauty and power, and she fell into a charmed sleep. She thought he loved her, you see, but he loved her face and her family's land, not her, and when she, discovering this, refused to marry him, he flew into a rage. She fell asleep, into a swoon on the ground, weeping even in her sleep. Years passed, and the princess still slept, hidden deep in a woodland bower by mages who sought to protect her. ~  
  
Not years, only days, but it felt strange not being able to sense her. Before, she had always been there, a tiny moth-like presence deep in his mind. He had known if he desperately needed, she was there to reach out to. But now, a hush that made him feel choked and alone.  
  
~ Centuries passed, and the princess's bowers became covered in weeds until there was only darkness. The mages died, and her kingdom fell into ruin and war, until all that remained in a destroyed wasteland was a palace of poison plants, stored safe in a vast ugly forest. ~  
  
Poison plants? Only the poison of an Arachon monster, only the poison of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.   
  
~ Until one day - and fairytales live for one day - a lost traveller found himself in this land. Now, I should tell you that he was good and brave and true, and handsome as the night is dark, but all those things would be a lie. He was only a man, like you will be one day, Ryan, a man who lived as best he could, but did what he had to for survival. He had a little magic that he used for tricks and street shows, and could throw a knife like any street man, but he was nothing special. ~  
  
That's what we all do, Ryan thought, balancing on the side of the bed so he could see her small, pale face fully, with the dark eyelashes lying on her face like two charcoal crescent moons. Just try and survive as best as we can. Some of us turn into heroes on the way, like Kel, but most of us are just people.  
  
~ A storm had arisen, and it drove him to find shelter. He wandered deeper and deeper into the wood, hearing the howls of wolves behind him, shivering and miserable, and then he saw the thicket. It looked sturdy, he thought, and might be dry, so he crawled within to shelter, not minding the cuts that laddered his hand and the nettles that stung him terribly, he was so desperate to be dry. ~   
  
And this storm had been worse than many. A storm of people searching for ordinary, thieving Ryan Talver and this sweet, innocent girl. A storm of magical creatures that killed, of knights to chop them down.  
  
He smoothed a hand over her forehead, surprised at how soft her skin was, downy as rose petals. "Wake up," he whispered, as he so often had, but she remained locked in slumber. "Wake up, lass. There's people here who want to meet ye."  
  
~ And imagine his surprise when he found himself in a hollowed cave, a cave carven not from stone but years and years of weed. Imagine him standing, stooping slightly because he was a tall man and the roof was low, and feeling his way through the darkness. Imagine his bemusement when he felt another person there, lying silent. ~  
  
He remembered that first moment, being hurled into Andrea's world. Seeing her surrounded by enemies - a girl he didn't even *know* - and being furious at how callously they treated her. Meeting those extraordinary hawk-golden eyes, and hearing the first delicate chime of her voice. He had been so shocked, and so amazed and even - even - a little afraid at this unknown new bond between them.  
  
~ He called his magic, and flung light into the corner of the cave. And the white light of his gift made the sleeping princess radiant. For a moment, he thought she was a goddess or a dryad, but then he saw the mark of mortal beauty on her; that one little scar. It was what saved her from sleeping eternally. ~  
  
He called to her again, and then he called to his magic, and let it ripple over her. Trying to find the same spark of life he had found in Kel, and finding only an impossible slick wall that he couldn't break through.   
  
~ He leaned over her. I know what you're thinking; he kissed her then, but he didn't. He tried to be a good man, and good men, he knew, did not kiss vulnerable sleeping women. He saw her tears, for the princess still wept at her betrayal after centuries asleep, and prayed to the gods to make this girl happy. ~  
  
Ryan had never prayed. He didn't know how. But he looked at her face, and shut his eyes and thought simply, please, I need your help.  
  
"My help?" The voice rang like a screaming osprey, harsh and hungry. "I am your Goddess, and you turn to me only when you want something? Where is your respect?"  
  
Respect has to be earned, Ryan thought. All you have done is send me on a quest. You let Kel die. You let all those poor people die who didn't know any better, all they wanted was to feel magic.   
  
Silence, but Hana's phantom voice filled it.  
  
~ And because he was selfless in his wish, the gods awoke the girl. ~  
  
"Fairy stories do not occur in real life," the voice of the Goddess said. He couldn't see her, but he could smell the incense of a temple, and the air was unbearably cold. "But...I will help you. You are rude, Ryan Talver, and you are impudent and young and foolish. Yet for all that, you are my Chosen, and you have finally asked for my help. I will wake her."  
  
Then she was gone, and warmth seeped into his bones again. He opened his eyes, looking at her face.   
  
"Wake up," he muttered, but she remained still and waxen. "Wake up, lass, you got to finish the story."  
  
~ She heard this man praying for her, and when at last he realised she was awake, he was afraid of what she might think. But the princess reached out, and took his hand and- ~  
  
Hana had never finished that story. He had fallen asleep.  
  
So what, he wondered, half-afraid, would happen? Andrea's eyelashes lifted smoothly, slowly, and the blurred liquid of her golden eyes swirled hazily.   
  
What if she didn't want him? He was only a streetrat, he had caused her so much trouble-  
  
"Ryan?"  
  
Her voice was rusty, but still sweet.  
  
His grey eyes lit up. "Hello Andrea."  
  
She sat up with a moan, blinking. "Is it you?"  
  
"Aye, it is." He saw her look around, and smiled gladly. "You're safe now, lass. We're all safe."  
  
She looked at him, a kind of shattering disbelief in her eyes. A long pause and then an incredulous, shy smile curled over her mouth. "You found me."  
  
He laughed. "I had help."  
  
She reached out one pale hand, and cautiously, he put his on top of it.   
  
Fire blazed around them, an incredible emerald fire that was their two magics merging, and Ryan felt the world at his fingertips, waiting for them to reach out and take it.  
  
"We're here," she said, looking at him steadfastly. "At last. Thank you, Ryan Talver."  
  
"Thank *you*, Andrea Kirisra," he said solemnly, and they grinned at each other.  
  
He wondered if she heard the voice that whispered once before she arose, before she went out to meet the people who would never lead her to the gallows or hunt her into hell. Andrea was Tortallan now.  
  
But he didn't know what the thunderstorm voice was that echoed faintly in his ears.  
  
~ You are Bound. ~  
  
****  
  
~ The End - For Now. ~  
  
Comments would be vastly, utterly and slavishly adored!  
  
Yup. That's it. It is done with! So my thanks to these darling people who commented on the last part, and kicked my ass into writing this :-) If you're still reading, I think I should be handing out medals!  
  
Thank you to:  
  
Chip: Thank you :-) Well, I hope you enjoyed! I've loved hearing what you thought!  
  
Orenda: I don't believe in perfect worlds. If I ain't living in it, why should anybody else? Besides...think how dull life would be if we were all perfectly happy! Thanks!  
  
Shannon Cooper: Thank you :-) Oh no, it's not over! Well, it is now (oh my god, I can't believe I just wrote that. That was an unintentional quote of the football phrase...). Ack, there will be more cliffhangers to come!  
  
:-) I have started the sequel - I have about 10 pages of bits and pieces done on it (hopefully it will have a few surprising plot twists...) Thanks!  
  
Emy: Thank you very much! I'm honoured! I hope you've liked the rest of it :-) I do - or rather did - take Latin, but I am no longer bound to it's hellish lessons! I can't remember how you say thank you in Latin...so long...  
  
Lady: I am all for people getting what they deserve :-) It's so much fun! Pip will get further desserts...Neal is in this part...and will be in the next story in a rather more substantial way I hope! I'll find out my exam results on Aug 16th (so you will probably be able to tell from my a) manically depressed or b) insanely happy tone.  
  
Aquilla: LJS and TP are a tad different, aren't they! I keep finding myself wanting to write the wrong things in each story...I think bits *are* creeping in here and there! Thank ye!  
  
Cass: It will ,I think, be back to cliffhangers, It took me yonks to get this out...I need the motivation of a cliffhanger. It kicks me into gear. Thanks!  
  
Sakamoto Mizuki: god, no, don't throw yourself at my feet! The stench alone might kill you! Thanks :-) Well, it wasn't soon, but I finally got the more out! Sorry it took so long!  
  
Quartz: I didn't think you were a jackass (is that also a kind of rabbit?) Don't apologise :-) I'm pretty difficult to offend. (With my friends, that is a good thing!) This chapter is / was very very long!   
  
Ivy Leaves: Well, I thought Cruise was pretty cute in Jerry Maguire (when his age wasn't showing), but James Marsters, *well*. Oh, I've been hit with worse than a wooden plank. :-) Algebra gets easier :-) Trust me! I'm doing A-Level (high school senior) algebra. Was that just a confession of insanity?  
  
Comicstar: Thank you! I've really enjoyed writing this :-) Thank you for the encouragement!   
  
Jenn: I don't know - Kel is pretty young, about 14/15 I think, but Ryan's 16 and we all know what 16 year old boys are like... Oh, kittens are so cute! It's a pity they have to grow into cats.   
  
Myst: That happened next! And what happens next should be more fun :-) I have plans. Mind you, I have fingernails too. (Random comment of the day.) Thank you for *all* your reviews.  
  
Team Socket: Thanks :-) I've been reading Terry Pratchett lately. I nearly killed myself laughing. (Interesting Times - amazing book.)  
  
Michelle: I have the feeling riding a hurrok would be like hitching a lift with an Indycar driver ;-) One wild ride. Thanks!  
  
Saree: Thank ye very much! :-) What a lovely compliment!  
  
Larzdinn: Oh dear god, I published this chapter in *May*? It's been two months? Someone kneecap me! That's disgusting! ::grimace:: Don't apologise for reviewing late, yell at me for taking so damn long! Nah, that wasn't the end - but this is! Thanks!  
  
Maygwenda: Thank you! Sorry about the hurrying up ::cough:: Life got on top of me.   
  
And last - but not at all least, Ra3212: Thank you :-) I know it doesn't fit in with Squire, but hey, that's why they put the 'fiction' in fanfiction!  
  
And thank you to *everyone* who has commented I have been totally, utterly, astounded, gob smacked, thrilled and delighted at your comments and criticisms - thank you for reading! You have made the last few months a lot of fun!   
  
Thank you: Aeris Cimorene ei Caeran, Alec, Angelique Hallowed, Angel of Death, Anjel, Anon Sara'a, AquariuSagE, Aquilla, Arial, Ariana, Arturo, Arwen, Arylia, Cait, Camilla, Cass, Catchfire, Chip, Comicstar, Cool, Daine, Danel, Dara, Dead Flower, Dee, Depressed Muse, Destiny, Diomede, Draco, Dreamgirl_j8, Elinar, Elizabeth, Emy, Euclara, Eviltama, Faerie Gurl, Fei, FireLily, Francesca, Gabs, Galli-vi, Gwyn, Harkly, Heavengirl221, Ivy Leaves, Jackal Nyte, Jaelawyn Noble, Jennifer, Jenn, Jess Elvenflame, Jessica, Jinx, Jodie, Cali Gurlie, Karalea Ethereal, Katie, Katya Thostova, Kibee, Kierce, Kira, Kitkat, Lady, Lady Silvermoon, Larzdinn, Leap, Leevee, Leila, Lily, Lily Potter, Maia Ariadne Athene, Marie, Magelet, Mage Melery, Maple, Maygwenda, Mel, Merc the Mage, Merlayne Q, Me, Michelle, Midnight Angel, Millennia, Molly-Ann, Myst, Naavi, Noelle, Obsessed Reader, Onua, Orenda, Peaches, Perfect1, Phantasea, Phoenix Girl, Quartz, Ra3212, Renegade Wolfe, Rici Stark, Sakamoto Mizuki, Saphron, Saree, Scarlette Faerie, Scyther2.0, Shannon Cooper, Silver Serpeh, Slim C, Sparrow, Star*, Starlight, Steph, Sulia Serafine, Tam Cranver, Tasidia, Tatra, Team Socket, Theladysong, The Silver Mist Tigress, Twiz*ler, Tyr the One-Handed, Wazzup Girl, Willows and last but most infinitly not least, :-)  
  
You have been absolutely **incredible**. So simply, infinitely, eternally - thank you. Anything you have to say would be much adored. There will be an epilogue if you wish.  



	20. Epilogue

Here it is - it took a while, but finally, is done. Thoughts adored.  
  
Ki  
  
Hanging On: Epilogue  
  
"*What* the hell do you think you're doin'?" a voice shouted from across the hallway. "I ain't wearin' that revoltin'-" A stream of words followed which made Andrea's tailor flush and start jabbing pins into her clothes intensely.   
  
Ryan, it seemed, wasn't taking too well to the clothes that they were being fitted with.  
  
And she could share the feeling. They had been rushed into the palace by Numair Salmalin, the big man that Ryan said was one of the most powerful mages this side of anywhere, and dropped with the housemistress who had been told to make them presentable enough for the king and queen.  
  
The *king*. And the *queen*. She was a common girl. She couldn't meet *royalty*.  
  
And the clothes were all too beautiful for anyone like her, and the people were so elegant, and even the maids dressed immaculately. Andrea felt so out of place here. She had lived in a little house all her life, not a palace.  
  
Ryan's curses filled the air rapidly as he argued with the tailor.  
  
Andrea listened, wide-eyed and wondering just what he was *saying*. She stole a glance at the noblewoman with them, a lady by the name of Uline, and saw she was looking slightly shocked.   
  
After a particularly inventive curse, she looked down at the woman who was fiddling with her hem and said, "What did that mean?"  
  
"What?" the woman said indistinctly, taking a pin from her mouth and fixing it.  
  
She repeated the phrase.  
  
"My lady!" the woman gasped, "you must *never* say such things! It's...it's..." Her voice filled with contempt. "Common."  
  
"I *am* common," Andrea pointed out reasonably, grimacing at her reflection. "Lady..." She swallowed, unsure if she should address the Lady Uline, though she did look friendly with her dark eyes and bright smile. And she had been so kind to Andrea, even though she was common.  
  
She supposed the lady might be considering taking her as a servant. After all, she was common-born, and they didn't let commoners in the palace.  
  
"Lady Uline?" she said timidly.   
  
The lady's dancing gaze turned to her. "What is it?" she asked, and smiled. "Don't you like the clothes?"  
  
She had never *seen* such fine cloth, silks and velvets and taffetas, and gauzes... "Oh no! Not at all, lady-"  
  
"It's just Uline," the noblewoman said cheerfully, and Andrea was stunned by the lack of formality. A lady, a *noble* was telling *her* to call her by her name! As if she thought they were *equals*.  
  
"It's just..."  
  
Ryan was still shouting, she could hear strange sounds, what sounded like glass breaking.  
  
"What do those words mean?" she asked cautiously.  
  
Uline's eyes went wide and slightly panicked. "Oh...Andrea...I..."  
  
"I am *not* stayin' here to be made into some charity case for you nobles!" she heard Ryan howl furiously, then the door to her room opened.   
  
"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Uline suggested, a hint of mischief in her tones. Were all nobles like that here?  
  
Ryan strode in, scowling. His hair was tousled and falling into a pair of smouldering grey eyes, while he was dressed in clothes that were indeed noble to the core. Lace, Andrea saw at once, did not suit him.  
  
"C'mon, Andi," he snarled, "I ain't hangin' round for them to dress us up like dolls. I'm street. We wear *practical* clothes, not this...this..." He plucked at a torn sleeve. "*Frippery*," he said in tones of deep disgust.  
  
"You get back here *now*!" roared a voice from across the corridor. "You may be favoured by Salmalin, thief, but you don't own this castle."  
  
Ryan turned round and told him to do something that caused a reflective silence.  
  
"What does that mean?" Andrea asked, puzzled by the desperate twitching of Uline's mouth, before the lady pulled out a hankerchief and had a coughing fit, and by the way the tailor at her feet had gasped.   
  
Ryan froze. "Uh...don't you know?"  
  
She shook her head, and stepped down from the fitting platform. He was right, the dress felt too grand for someone like her. She was happy in her old clothes. She wasn't noble-born like these folk. "I asked, didn't I?"  
  
Ryan was the one person she felt she didn't have to be shy with. He was a little...rough around the edges, and maybe he had no table manners she had seen, and he wouldn't stop stealing, but he was the only person since her parents who had cared about what happened to her.  
  
"I...er...um..." He squirmed. "Look, Andi, if you don't know, I don't want to tell ye. I ain't goin' to corrupt you."  
  
She stamped her foot. "Explain!"  
  
The others watched in bemusement as the tiny girl, who barely came up to Ryan's shoulder, backed him into a corner.  
  
He was flushing now. "Andi...it ain't proper for a lady's ears."  
  
"Well, we'll go outside and Lady Uline won't have to hear," she said patiently.  
  
"That weren't what I meant," he muttered balefully. "You're a lady too now."  
  
Andrea nearly screamed. "No, I'm *not*. I don't belong in all this...beautiful cloth, and I'm not near fit enough to go before the *king* and the *queen*-"  
  
"You can quit that straight off," Ryan said, glaring at her. "Lose that 'I ain't worthy' attitude, it's been annoyin' me all journey back. You *are* good enough, an' so am I. Just because they were born to the right parents, that don't make them any better than us. But I'm with ye on the clothes," he added ruefully.   
  
"But we aren't worthy!" she almost wailed, panicking at the thought of being brought before the two most important people in the kingdom. "You're a thief, and I'm a commoner, and we haven't even *done* anything!"  
  
"I will slap you in a minute if you don't stop that," he said, and she could tell by the stubborn line of his mouth that Ryan Talver meant every word. He took her hand and dragged her out into the hallway, shutting the door behind them.  
  
"Now you listen to me," he said quietly. "Puttin' a crown on someone's head don't make them any better. In fact, more often than not, it makes 'em worse. All that power just goes straight to their head, an' it don't stop till you cut it off. Maybe you an' me are common as they come, but so was Master Salmalin once, an' that lass they call the Wildmage. We're still *people*. Now you calm down, and let's think how we find us some good clothes."  
  
Calm down. Good advice. She began to feel more than a little silly as she took a few deep breaths, and realised she had been hysterical over what didn't amount to that much after all.  
  
"I feel wrong in these clothes," she ventured. "But...we can't say no to all these gifts."  
  
"Says who?" Ryan inquired with deadly civility. "Look, they ain't got no right to dress us up like we're just...puppets. If they wants to talk to us, they can talk to *us*, not prettied up commoners who feel all out of place."  
  
"But it's so ungrateful..." she protested faintly.  
  
He tugged at a lock of her gilt hair, smiling faintly. "Aye, an' let them call us ungrateful. You can bet they'll call us worse than that. Some of 'em'll say we're fakes, an' criminals, an' that we're getting' an easy life 'cause of our Gifts. But if they're goin' to call me names, I want 'em to at least be insultin' me about the right things."  
  
She giggled, and stood on tiptoe to ruffle his hair.  
  
"Hey!" he said indignantly. "Is that agreement, then?"  
  
"Yes," she said. "But where can we get some normal clothes. We're to be presented at noon, and it's a bare hour away!"  
  
His smile was sly. "Just so happens I know of a Rider's barracks nearby where they keeps some old clothes for the new recruits who ruin theirs."  
  
"You...thief!" she said, shocked. "I thought you were giving all that up."  
  
He tilted his head on one side, looking sweet and appealing. "Aw...well, maybe I need to keep in practice, Andi. C'mon, before they start openin' the doors and lookin' for us."  
  
Andrea kicked off her wonderful new fine shoes, and ran barefoot down the corridor after him.  
  
****  
  
Phillippa ha Minch was enjoying her Shang classes.  
  
"So tell me," Hakuin Seastone said, "where did you learn so much unarmed combat? Some of it's definitely Shang-taught."  
  
She grinned, her sea-green eyes twinkling wickedly. They were her best feature, she knew, on a face that was not as perfect as fashion and husbands dictated. "Well, I was never very obedient-"  
  
"We gathered that when you hijacked that hurrok," the Wildcat said dryly. The three of them were sat cross-legged on the floor of the small room she trained in after a particularly arduous session.  
  
"And Father was determined that Kiery would be not merely a good knight, but the best he could be. So before he went off to be a page, Father let it be known that he'd be most grateful if any Shangs in the area would care to come and teach at Westos-by-the-Sea - that's our family home - for a while."  
  
"I remember hearing about that," the Wildcat said thoughtfully. "It was back at the start of the King's reign, a year or two after Liam died." She sighed and for a moment looked her age. "I'm sure you've heard all the tales of the Shang Dragon, child. It's the price you pay for being the best. You have to prove it over and over and one day, you will lose."  
  
Pip felt a stab of sympathy for this woman, who had obviously felt so much for the Dragon. "Yes," she said, more quietly. "Well, the Shang Falcon stayed for a while. I was five at the time, but I'd learned how to escape my governesses. I went up to him after he'd done pounding Kiery into submission and asked him if he'd teach me too."  
  
The Shangs exchanged looks that Pip couldn't decipher the meaning of.   
  
"He told me to go away, of course," she said with a grin, "but I started following him around and pestering him. He still wouldn't give in. So then..." She smiled at the memory of that wicked child. "Well, the servants at Westos always loved me, so I asked them to do me a few favours. Suddenly, his hot food went cold, and the cold food was warm, and the ale was flat and the salt became sugar....his rooms were never heated, and *still* he wouldn't give in-"  
  
"Sounds like Joesh," the Wildcat murmured. "He never did know when to bend."  
  
Pip laughed. "I don't know about that, but then I began to whisper to all the single ladies in Westos how he was looking for a wife-"  
  
The Horse gave a bellow of laughter, throwing his head back. "Minx!"  
  
"Oh, I was," Pip agreed. "And finally he gave in, and he began to teach me. Not much, you understand, because if my parents had found out, we would both have been for it. But a half hour slipped in every couple of days, and he gave me exercises that I practiced in my rooms every night, and slipped them into my dancing lessons as warm-ups."  
  
"I had no idea you began so young," the Wildcat said in her husky voice. "Same as most commoners."  
  
Pip shrugged. "Oh, it wasn't real training. I enjoyed it too much to be that."  
  
The woman flashed her neat white teeth. "Are you sure? Seems to me you were born to fight, Lady ha Minch."  
  
Pip shook her head. "No. And the Falcon left after a year. Then the Ferret came, and I thought I'd have to start all that persuasion again, but she didn't mind. She said that nobles should know how to fight, and that it didn't matter if I learnt a little because I would never be Shang."  
  
"She always was one of the rebels," Hakuin commented softly. "Did you know she died in the Immortals War?"  
  
Pip nodded, and her eyes darkened. "I adored her. She was so much fun, even if she was tough as overcooked beef."  
  
"And after that," the Wildcat prompted.   
  
"After that, Kiery went to the castle, and the Shang went away. But I carried on doing the exercises, and practicing on the village boys." She smiled faintly. "I used to slip out of the fief and down to Westos village, and pretend I was a commoner. But when I got older, things...changed. Some of them wanted...what I wasn't prepared to give, but after a swift kick in the right place, they soon stopped that."  
  
She grinned at Hakuin's horrified expression, matched by the Wildcat's feral grin and nod of approval.  
  
"And in the meantime, Father had hired a tumbler for evening entertainment. I hunted him down in the day, and made him teach me. And then there were mummers, and a contortionist, and even a circus that stayed for a couple of months. I learnt something from all of them...and when rapes began in the village-" A hard look settled over Pip's face, "-Father decided his darling children had better know how to defend themselves. The village girls be damned of course, he didn't care enough to teach *them*. But...they were my friends, and I tried to teach them."  
  
"Aye, there's too many nobles who don't care for their own people," the Wildcat said grimly. Her grey eyes were splintered by a lightning anger. "Fools. They'd be nothing without their people."  
  
"Things are changing," Hakuin said, and smiled though there was little humour to it. "The Yamani Isles would never have agreed to this alliance otherwise. Savages, your Tortallans used to call us. But *we* do not work those we consider below us to their death, nor do we give our nobles rights they have not earned." He sighed, and waved a hand. "But that doesn't matter."  
  
"What matters," the Wildcat said, "is if you'd like to continue these classes. Informally, of course. After all, we have to teach those delightful young men who come to be knights." Her face was deceptively innocent. "They all think they can wrap an old lady like me around their spoilt little fingers."  
  
"Eda usually wraps them around a tree," Hakuin said dryly.  
  
The Wildcat bared her teeth at him, before she turned those astute eyes to Pip. "We'd like you to take over teaching the noblewomen for us eventually. You're good enough, and you seem to have taught those squires a few things - young Queenscove nearly threw me a few days ago - so you've got the knack of it."  
  
She beamed at them. A chance to stay and study this wonderful, invigorating order of people, a chance to do something that would matter - a chance to be something other than Phillippa ha Minch, the court joke.  
  
"I'll do it," she said.  
  
Little did she know what she would begin.  
  
But that, of course, is another story.  
  
****  
  
"Now this," Ryan declared in the privacy of the Riders' storeroom, "is much better."  
  
I don't know... Andrea thought. She looked down at herself, as she pulled on the clothes behind an elaborate dressing screen. They were so...bold.  
  
"You comin' out, lass?" His voice floated over to her, while she bit a nail and wondered if it was *right* to wear such things.  
  
"Lass?"  
  
"All right," she said hastily, her golden eyes soft and worried.  
  
She stepped out in time to see Ryan emptying a bag of coin into his sleeve. For a moment, it didn't quite register properly, then she froze still and pure anger exploded low in her stomach.  
  
He was *thieving*. Not merely borrowing clothes, but *stealing*. In their new home, from all these people who had been so *good* to him?  
  
"Ryan *Talver*," she howled, furious. "What are you doing?"  
  
His face was unrepentant, and she itched to slap him for a moment. "I'm movin' things," he said mock-earnestly. He tilted his dark head on one side. "They won't miss it, lass."  
  
"That..." she mouthed for a moment, the righteous ire creeping up through her veins like steam. "That's *not the point*! It's *wrong*."  
  
He gave her an endearing grin. "Well, there's wrong an' there's wrong. You'll learn that after a while."  
  
"I will *not*," she snapped, striding forward, all thoughts of how she had to look flown from her head. "Put it back!"  
  
He grinned. He thought it was *funny*. "Don't get yourself all in a pet now. I wouldn't want that little heart of yours to stop beatin'."  
  
Her fingers twitched, but Andrea forced them down by her side. She wasn't sure he'd take well to being hit, and she didn't know him well enough to guess his reaction. "I'll beat *you*." Control, she urged herself. He's a thief. It's what he does. Try to be understanding.  
  
But he must know it's wrong, surely, another voice chanted. Can't he see what an opportunity we're being given?  
  
His face was martyred. "Look, Andi, it ain't no big deal. It's not like it'll bankrupt 'em. This is a *palace*."  
  
"Don't you have any morals?" she demanded.   
  
His mouth tightened, and she saw the first hint of annoyance in the way his eyes narrowed, and misty threads of blue began to drift into the peaceful grey of his irises. "Don't you lecture *me* about morals. You ain't never lived on the streets."  
  
"This isn't the streets!" she shouted, exasperated. "This is a palace. You're not a thief now! We're *mages*. We're supposed to...to save the realm, not rob it blind!"  
  
He shrugged morosely, and for the first time, a sulky look appeared on his face. Then she realised that perhaps Ryan Talver wasn't as simple as he appeared to be. But then...who was?  
  
"It don't matter," he insisted vehemently. "It's just a little-"  
  
She stared at him, astonished at how he could be so stubborn at something so simple. Theft was *wrong*. There was no two ways about it. He didn't need to steal. Not now, not when there was all this for them.   
  
"But can't you see it *does*?" she said, hating the note of pleading in her voice. "It's never right, Ryan, how can it be?"  
  
He looked at her, and sighed. "All right," he muttered. "If you're goin' to go all high an' mighty on me, I'll put it back. But you don't understand, Andi. Thievin' ain't always bad. One day I'll take you down to the streets and show you. You'll see then."  
  
I doubt it, she thought.   
  
He shook his head, then looked at her and blinked. And smiled slowly, a sweetly awed curve of his mouth that spread like a fresh dawn. "Well, so ye do have legs. I was beginnin' to wonder if you had wheels under all them petticoats."  
  
She looked at the trousers. "You don't think they make me...wanton?"  
  
His laughter exploded onto the air. She was a touch offended, at first, as he doubled over howling. Didn't he know that women in trousers weren't any better than they ought to be? They were saying they were equal with *men*. And she knew that wasn't true. Hadn't everyone in her village told her that, over and over?  
  
"You got some funny ideas, lass," he said when he could talk again, gasping for breath. "Wanton? You couldn't be wanton if you tried. It'd be like...like seein' the King in a tutu," and then he was off into fresh paroxysms of laughter.  
  
"All right," she said huffily, not liking how ignorant he had made her feel. "So they don't look wrong?"  
  
"They look normal to me," he said cheerfully. "Smile, lass. I didn't mean to offend ye."  
  
Maybe we're not quite as alike as I thought, Andrea decided, but she couldn't make up her mind if that was good or bad. Their magicks could combine, but their ideas, their lives...a different matter. One that would take a lot of time and effort to resolve.  
  
"When are we supposed to be presented to the royals?" he asked, checking his reflection in a mirror with a little bit of an insecure, uncertain look on his face. For some reason, he didn't seem to like mirrors, or lakes, or any kind of reflective surface. She didn't know why, but determined to find out.   
  
"About...oh, Mithros, now!" she squealed. "What do we do, we'll be late, oh, they'll-ike!"  
  
Her words were cut off as Ryan grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the storeroom towards the court.  
  
****  
  
~ Mage? ~  
  
Numair jumped at the voice, a deep resonant voice that echoed faintly. He turned to see thirty feet of gleaming emerald dragon behind him. He was waiting outside the court for his absent students, at the top of the great stairs.  
  
The dragon was slumped on the ramparts outside, spoiling many a courtesan's stately promenade. Several edged around it, hands spread against the walls, while others looked queasy and turned away. Jademirth had made rather too many jokes about eating humans for anyone's liking.  
  
How Jademirth had managed to sneak up on him, he didn't know.  
  
But still, he bowed, and thought he saw a flicker of amusement in the narrow turquoise eyes. "How may I help?"  
  
The dragon had made itself useful. For starters, it had begun to devour any particularly nasty immortals that terrorised the outer regions. It was a fount of formerly lost knowledge, and knew some spells that Numair had been delighted to learn.  
  
It also had a sense of humour. This, in a gigantic flaming monstrous peril, could only be considered an advantage.   
  
~ It's about your little mortalings, ~ the dragon murmured. It examined its claws in the sunlight, much like a lady might her nails. ~ The ones called Ryan Talver and Andrea Kirisra. ~  
  
That startled Numair. Dragons, as a rule, didn't bother with mortals' names. They weren't significant enough. For Jademirth to address his students by name was rare indeed.  
  
"You know their names?" he asked.  
  
~ Yes. ~ The dragon paused. ~ They are important. Our legends speak often of them. ~  
  
"Your legends?" He knew the dragons were immensely powerful seers of the future, but for two mortals to feature...it was phenomenal.   
  
~ Indeed. I understand they have told you they are touched by the gods? ~ Jademirth snorted. ~ Interfering imbeciles. ~  
  
"I...understand so," Numair said guardedly.  
  
The tail lashed, light rippling along it in green and white bands. ~ Do you know why they are chosen? ~   
  
"Sheer luck, one assumes," he said dryly, wondering just what the dragon was working up to.  
  
~ Wrong. ~ The dragon's head darted forward on the long neck. ~ Do you know, sometimes your gods like to have a little fun. They...what is your mortal word? Oh yes, they manifest themselves. ~  
  
"Manifest?" he repeated dumbly, feeling vaguely baffled. He really couldn't see where this was leading. "You mean they take on mortal form?"  
  
~ Correct. ~ It blinked, and settled itself back like a contented cat. ~ And it so happens that oh, sixteen years ago, the one who is called Mithros chose to take the form of a wandering bard, and the Goddess the form of a beautiful - naturally, those wretched deities are obsessed with perfection - young flower seller. ~  
  
"This is all very interesting," the mage said, frowning, "but I don't see-"  
  
~ Mithros in time came to a village in the North. And he met a woman, charmed her with his amazing singing (it's always struck me as suspicious that a war-god plays the harp so well) promptly deflowered her - men! - ~  
  
"You wouldn't be a female by any chance, would you?" the dark-eyed mage said uneasily.  
  
Teeth gleamed. ~ Well worked out. Anyway, he left this mortal woman pregnant. Happily for her, another man, a mortal, loved her and so he married her and claimed the child was his own. It was a girl, incidentally. A girl with golden hair, hair like the sun- ~  
  
"Oh god," Numair said fervently. "You don't mean-"  
  
~ And of course, let us not forget our lady goddess, who met a mortal man, and left *him* a child before she trotted back up to the Divine Realms - it's fortunate your dear deities are omnipotent, or a lot of prayers would have gone unanswered for nine months - who happened to be a boy. The father, embittered by your goddess's abandonment, hated the boy- ~  
  
"Are you telling me Ryan and Andrea are...demi-gods?" Numair said faintly.  
  
~ Well, where did you think they got all that power from? The faeries? ~  
  
Numair decided not to mention that that idea had crossed his mind.  
  
~ Great things lie in store for them, ~ the dragon finished. ~ I just thought you should know. In case any odd powers start making themselves known. They're a magnet for immortals - we can sense their blood miles away. ~  
  
"*Wonderful*," he said heavily.   
  
~ You might want to start looking at prophecies, ~ Jademirth said. ~ Oh, and maybe you should pray a little too. ~ It paused. ~ Then again, considering that both your mortalings' parents prayed, maybe you shouldn't. ~  
  
He was about to answer, when the herald summoned him into the courtroom.  
  
****  
  
Queen Thayet tapped her fingers on the throne. "Well?" she said a fraction coolly, pursing the mouth that had inspired many a song. Her K'mir blood was strong in her war-like expression. "Where are they?"  
  
"I don't-" he began.  
  
The doors were flung back, lightly stunning the herald at the top, and two blurs flew down to stop at his feet, flushed and mussed.  
  
"I'm so sorry we're late," the first said, and threw back tumbled golden hair to reveal Andrea Kirisra's small, anxious face. "Oh, we forgot the time and-"  
  
"Are those *Riders' clothes* you're wearing?" the Queen, shocked, interrupted. She leant forward on her throne, hazel eyes keen.   
  
"We provide better hospitality than that," the King murmured, his brows drawing together. "Numair, surely you asked for Thayet's girl - Lalasa, is it?"  
  
"He did," Ryan interrupted, looking at the royals with bold and unafraid eyes, unlike Andrea who kept her head down. "But we ain't no nobles. They weren't comfortable."  
  
The King's mouth quirked. "And your lateness?" he said, a shade coldly.   
  
"We had to go an' raid the Riders," Ryan said unabashedly.   
  
The Queen's glare was piercing. "Master Numair led me to believe you had renounced your taking ways."  
  
"Just keepin' my hand in, m'lady," the thief said bouncily. He trod on Andrea's foot until she looked up.  
  
Numair was torn between wanted to sink in to the ground and laughing out loud.   
  
"For what, precisely?" Thayet said sharply. Her eyes flicked to Numair briefly, and he could read what she was thinking. You had better keep them under control.  
  
He shrugged. "Ye never know." He coughed. "Anyway, we got somethin' to show you, highnesses."  
  
Now the girl looked a little less afraid, and a spark of eagerness jumped in her eyes.  
  
Numair could see the amusement writ in the eyes of the Court at this pair of scruffy teenagers. Ryan, dazzlingly good-looking even in the faded trousers and shirt he wore, drew the eyes of the young girls, though they hid their longing quickly. Common, after all. And Andrea, a tiny golden thing, if not pretty, then certainly delicate, looked like nothing but prey to the suaver of the young men there.   
  
The King and Queen exchanged a glance. "Please, do," the King said with a brief flick of his fingers.  
  
His two students looked at one another, and Numair felt the power humming in the air before he saw the fire flare around them both, Gold, soft and rippling like layers of veils about Andrea and a deep clear turquoise spiking about Ryan.   
  
Then their two halos touched, and changed to deep simmering jade.  
  
The Court gasped as in the air appeared a wondrous vision wrought of silver and golden light, sketching itself out as first a cage of bones, pale and glistening, then magical flesh pearling on, glowing and shifting and finally solidifying. Splitting in two, and still growing, sparks of amber and cobalt appearing in the design, until before the court, perfect and amazingly lifelike stood two statues of the King and Queen.  
  
"We're very glad to be here," Andrea said softly, into the reverent hush.  
  
"Thank you," Ryan added.  
  
Children of the gods, Numair thought. The future would be interesting.  
  
He couldn't wait.  
  
~* Fin *~  
  
There. It *is* done now :-) Thank you to everyone who reviewed last time round and sorry it took so long. I've been working a lot lately. I've been floored by you all - you're all so wonderfully patient, thank you! Apologies if I'm about to not make much sense. I've been up for 36 hours now, sleep just isn't heading my way, so I'm a little urgh at the mo.   
  
Thank you to:   
  
Kendra/Chip: Well, I made a start on the sequel :-) Hopefully I'll get Part Three out pretty soon. I'm psyched that you liked!   
  
Naavi: I know how you feel without that sleep! I've been getting up at 5am (I am not a morning person). ::grins:: Thanks! I'm knocked out that you enjoyed it; it was a lot of fun to write. Hopefully, A Lady's Shield'll be a little neater than this one.  
  
Danel: Bruna will get her own story after I've finished A Lady's Shield. I've got a few bits and pieces written for it. Thanks!  
  
Myst: Good god, torture! I can't wait! :-) God, I have got to get some more free time to write. No, I am getting on with A Lady's Shield, I'm just trying to figure out how to get where I want to go.   
  
Quartz: Muchos gracias, leader of the Qs J (Hey, do the rest of the Qs know this?) I hope the characters will develop a little more in the next story, and I'll get more used to writing in a different world. It's bizarre.  
  
Larzdinn: I have actually read Squire now :-) Well, that's my fanfics screwed (but who cares?), but it was such a good book! My exams went well. 5 As - can't complain! Cheers!  
  
:o) Well, not the fastest delivery ever of a part (maybe I should change my author name to Snail.) but better late than never right? Thank you for all your comments!  
  
Sparrow: I didn't know FFN had changed anything. Except for the Big Crash. Man, that was a pain! Hang on, let me try and get my bloated head back from floating up near the ceiling...often I ran out of words J Then I use my words. Which may not mean anything to anyone else, but are dang good superlatives from where I'm sitting (word of the week: indeniagus.)  
  
Atira: Thank you. J I'm afraid you'll have to put up with the author notes. They're just another part of it.  
  
Briar's Rose: Boy, that must have given you PC finger (hey, you can get Nintendo thumb, right?) it took a while, but it is continued!  
  
Camilla: Well, I managed two out of three - Remember and FoF. Not too bad, right? ::grimace:: I have had too many other things on, but school starts again next week - so evenings free to write again. No exams. More free time due to less subjects = only a good thing. Thanks!  
  
Jinx: I hope you liked Scotland :-) I've never been there (alas, I should, it's only a couple of hundred miles away.) Thanks"!  
  
Cass: Thanks :-) I'm finally laying this story to rest. After all, it's only taken me, what 9 months to finish. (Oh god, now I feel guilty.) Thank you muchly, chica!  
  
Kiiriana: Thanks you :-) What a lovely list - I'm knocked out!  
  
Michelle: Yup, This was the first Tp fic. You don't have to believe, but it don't make it any less true!   
  
Tayna: Thank you J I had a lot of fun writing it - it gave me a whole new world to get lost in.   
  
Lady: Douglas Adams Hitchhiker's Guide is one of my fave series. I love the bit in the Restaurant at the End of the Universe when Marvin washes his head down the phone at them. I still have to read Pratchett's new one (I have no money and no library. Hence deprivation.) Considering wirting professionally (or trying at least) far far in the future :-) Thanking thee muchly!  
  
Jenn: Thanks! Why don't you have your comp now?  
  
Team Socket: All things come to an end. Except for school, which seems to never end. Thank you!  
  
Yuna: My imagination does tend to run away with me. :-) It's fun. It makes life more interesting. And scary for other people. :;grins:: Thank you!  
  
Kateydidnt: Didn't what, incidentally? :-) Thank you - I'm thrilled you're enjoying it! It's always amazing to know that the strange little children of that mass I call my brain (that others call 'the empty space') are enjoyed!  
  
The Lady Tiger: My god, it must have taken you yonks to read it! (Probably less time than it took me to write it though :-)) Thank you - I hope you enjoy the others! And my imagination is currently orbiting somewhere round mars J I'm about to go join it.  
  
Thanks to all of you - you've been awesome.  
  
  



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